I tit 

• I « I 


i . 


• I % 


\ 

t1 


1' T ' 


j 


■ V .i' - . , 


•• l . t . t , . t . M t 


■ 4 k • i « • < » i • » « 

• , : t ; t ; t : - ' ; I : ; 

' . i . . : . . i : . : i \ 

.;il ♦« 

„ . • . I ' • I • < • t i I » 

: '.•;i 

‘ I 'i 

^ • • 

i. ; : t ; ; ! ’ i J i : . M * i i t 


•M': 

. P <• \ i 

' . • < < • 

' i . . It ■■ • J ll •» < • -1 * . « • 1 • « • » . 1 

■ ; I f... 5 ■;. .3 « . . 1 ■ ■ ; • ' « • ' 


• ' 5 > 9 * & 4 t » • • ' ■ ■ '< r- I« li • • • 4 I I * 9 9 \ ' I ■ 

j- - Kti 

H# ' *1. ' I* 51. 

t ^ » 4 4 1 ^ 4. j V f •«» 1 • ^ > 

n. 

i:;- ''U ^t^'. J; ‘ ‘ - r*: { i 

.r '■• : !:'!•.•• •• : . • -f 

' ■• ■•' ' • -ij . ! 


f>-* iV 

>:« I -4 i . - - 

iTrri 



' . . ■ . ' , i i ^ II ., i i i I" i . . I t . j 

' ' . ■ ■ ' i '! • : n ; f •. i - » 

M • I ' ■ ' ■ - r: M . ■» i: ; ; * • ! ‘ . 

. t 'J ■• ■ • • 

. * . . . H, 4 i ' ' -i . 

• • 4 -- r V' * ■ ' >* 

. • » • • J • ^ r 4 . » 

* • ^ ' I i 0 • ■ • • • 

'I' . 

• *4 i, f| A<. . . 4 0 

■ . I ^ 5i n • . • • . • ... ■%.'.* 

4 ' i4 , r.' 4 tt A • • • * • '•*«»•*< • ' ■ w I 

t 4. 6 • • • • > 1 * . I* ' » 

. _ f li r, . • . ; • . ^ 

•‘ ' :•■ l.ii - 


• * * % 4 . 

' • ‘I- 


U\': 

Vl' j 


ii: 


rji. *5 

1 1 t . » 

• • 1 ' « . 

* * 

!.•;•! ' 


i • ; 

• r 


. J ■ . i 
1 . t ; 


; r 


* , ! : ; , K r. M J n 


: J . ! • 

• 44 • 


4 '■ 4 4 9 - 

f - .: . ; 1.1 : : M , • . • l . • ; * ' 1 5 1 ; W . ! .* ij -'I 

* .t;; r. : :r.; i: . : : • : t;:}iT 

■ *4 ♦ • * -i4*#*. •.••••♦4*4 




1 : ; : ' i : . ! i ; 

«» 4 * » , • 

•• •t.i •« • ' > 

I'i .1' 


» ' • 
4 • 


* •• 0 • • . 
: ; . t • , : . : 


•n 
1 « • 


r t: ^ r;:'!!*; ii! ’ - i'- ‘ 

«« • • >». .1 •t«l4*4»» 

r «. *, *. 04 «• 

S* 'it 0 0 


I *.• 

. I ..J. ..•«4** «to 

.« •4^04^9 000 ... 4% •» I.* 


i . . . 


% » ^ ^ ‘ 

# t I • i . 4 4 > > 

• ; • J • • 1 ? I 

« • . • . • • . 

• : r i . I 


0% . 

•I . t . • . • . t 

1 . • ... 

I • 

. :l -i •.'. 

t . ] . . I ■ . • 



n; •• »:• • !^. ii'', : i;. 

, . , . .... - ■ . . ' » \ . » . . ' . 1 . . 1 1 ♦ I . t . • t . 

.. •- ' 1 I ii 

.. ... -I- .... .*,1, ■» ..-.li 

^ Mi H-hrii- ; 

• f4>* «<• <.if«4s| 0 0 4 0 0 «|4 


' • : f : • t; * :f ; : J 


1.. i.ti ' -. 

. • « » . 4 * • • • • 

; : . J i t ; : i : • : ' - 1 1 ; J 
: ; . : r i . ; : . . , i t ; 1 * ; t 
i i .. i 

. . r • • .u 

0 0 • ' t • • • 4 •• 0 ■4 \s •* 0 0 
4 0 4 4 0 • *4.»*..**t4 

•40‘l»9 

• ; : ; : . •.j';:::r:::; 

1 ;• 1 1 ... 3 '. 

: J ;; r. . 

•: I : - i 1 3 ‘ 

• . «...••«* , 0,0 4 

. • ; : r i 1 : 

^ 0 4 0 . * 0 4 

0 0 0 0. ••• « . 

0 4 0. 

•14' • • • 


. 5 r ; . ; : : ; 



Class 

Book 


BEQUEST OF 

ALBERT ADSIT CLEMONS 
(Not available for exchange) 


r 







« 


¥- 



t 


r 





• \ ' 



i 
























$ 


V' 

' * M, r . t\ . 

'v ■ " 




i 




I 


\ 

I 


I 


I 

' / 


I 


i 



• I 


f I 




J . .' - 


i ■ • 


■ 'i . '• .< 


,o . 'f 

‘ ■ j . 


./ -’K 


•( > 


..,' 1,1 > ' 


■ '‘J- \ 


* ■ •. 


'-j ' '/ ' ■'i- /V' ' ,!■ , - 

‘ij_ Y ■ ■ . ' 'y • ' ' ■•* , 

iiiiiili 





A LADY OF EOME 


1 



•\ 


t 


] 


« 






A LADY OF ROME 


BY 


F. MARION CRAWFORD 


AUTHOS OP “ SARACINESCA,” “PAIR MARGARET, 


NEW YORK 
HURST & CO. 
PUBLISHERS 


” ETC. 



u 





COPTBIGHT, 1906, 


By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 


Set up and elcctrotyped. Published October, 1906. 
Reprinted November, 1906 ; March, 1912. 

Boquest ' ‘ 

ii.lbert Adeit Clemons 
Aug. 24, 1938 
(Not available iov ©smbemgs) 

Thirty-sixth Thousand 



NorhJODtJ IPress 

J. 8. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass., TJ.8.A. 


1 


PAST I 


MARIA 



CONTENTS 

PART I 

PAGE 

Maria 1 


PART II 

The Countess of Montalto 197 


V," V-," ' '■ 

^■j\. yy-h '. ■. 

1 . • ’ 

> .A--*’* ' . - / ' 

'} M , 1 1 , • , ' . ( 


I 

I . 


v; 




i! 


(j ' ■ I ■ . < 

> I 








‘ 1 


* 1 ' “> 

V-, 


I I 


'I ' t 


1 ‘i 


' • 

4 \ 

. • • 




I } 


\ ' 
\ • I 


fi 


t. 

> / 


/ 


1, 


' ’ 1 


. j 
' I 




' '.V . 

, ' I. 


'• »■ I 




• v, 

U j t, 1. • 

•it. . ^ • 


' 4 • 

I - ! 


»!'0 


t ■ I 
I'l. '' 1 , 


, \ ' 

.'ii ' 


s^’ 

/' 


■'f • 




\ ■ I ) 


'• /I M 

f ' ' ' 




I 




r 


U ': ' 


I , 






r,'' ‘ ' ■ ' . 








■■( I . 


i ■ . 

r ' , 
, I ■ 


V ^ ► 


. » I 


I ■ ' 


I- i, i' 




, \ 


' r • I • *' I ! 

.'-/i ■' 

iiVJA*;'!' A V, ■' '■'•r., 


* 


■ I t 

*1 


■ / ' ■ ■ , 
t , ’ 

/ >'■ f. 


^ ■ f 

■ ', V . '' 


; % 


i M . 


I . k L. 


* , ‘ .f 


) 


V 


._>M ■*" 


.' * 1 <■. 

i • I r . 




CHAPTER I 


Maria Montalto was dressed as a Neapolitan Acquaiola 
and kept the lemonade stall at the Kermess in Villa 
Borghese. The villa has lately changed its official 
name, and not for the first time in its history, but it 
will take as long to accustom Romans to speak of it as 
Villa Umberto as it once did before they could give up 
calling it Villa Cenci. For the modern Romans are 
conservative people, who look with contempt or in- 
difference on the changes of nomenclature which are 
imposed from time to time by their municipal repre- 
sentatives. 

The lady was selling iced lemonade, syrup of almonds, 
and tamarind to the smart and the vulgar, the just and 
the unjust alike; and her dress consisted of a crimson 
silk skirt embroidered with gold lace, a close-fitting low 
bodice that matched it more or less and confined the 
fine linen she wore, which was a little open at the throat 
and was picked up with red ribband at the elbows, 
besides being embroidered in the old-fashioned Neapoli- 
tan way. She had a handsome string of pink corals 
round her neck, Sicilian gold earrings hung at her ears, 
and a crimson silk handkerchief was tied over her dark 
hair with a knot behind her head. 

She was very good-looking, and every one said the 
3 


4 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


costume was becoming to her; and as she was not at 
all vain, she enjoyed her little success of prettiness 
very much. After all, she was barely seven-and- 
twenty and had a right to look five years younger in a 
fancy dress. She was not really a widow, though many 
of her friends had fallen into the habit of treating her 
as if she were. It was seven years since Montalto had 
left her and had gone to live with his mother in Spain. 

They had only lived together two years when he had 
gone away, and observant people said that Maria had 
not grown a day older since, whereas they had noticed 
a very great change in her appearance soon after she 
had been married. It was quite absurd that at twenty 
she should have had a little patch of grey by her left 
temple just where the dark hair waved naturally. At 
that rate we should all be old at thirty. 

The observant ones had noticed another odd thing 
about Maria Montalto. Her girl friends remembered 
especially a certain fearless look in her eyes, which were 
not black, though they were almost too dark to be called 
brown, and used to be most wonderfully full of warm 
light in her girlhood. But she had not been married 
many months, perhaps not many weeks, when a great 
change had come into them, and instead of fearlessness 
her friends had seen the very opposite in them, a look 
of continual terror, a haunted look, the look of a woman 
who lives in perpetual dread of a terrible catastrophe. 
It had been there before her boy was born, and it was 
there afterwards; later she had been ill for some time, 
after which Montalto had gone away, and since that 
day her eyes had changed again. 


CHAP. I 


MARIA 


5 


There was no terror in them now, but there was the 
perpetual remembrance of something that had hurt 
very much. I once knew a man who had been tor- 
tured by savages for twenty-four hours, and his eyes 
had that same expression ever afterwards. In the 
Middle Ages, when torture was the common instru- 
ment of the law, many persons must have gone about 
with that memory of suffering in their eyes, plain for 
every one to see. Maria looked as if she had imder- 
gone bodily torture, which she remembered, but no 
longer feared. 

After all, her trouble had left no hnes in her young 
features, nor anything but that singular expression of 
her eyes and that tiny patch of white in her hair. Her 
face was rather pale, but with that delicious warm 
pallor which often goes with perfect health in dark 
people of the more refined type, and the crimson ker- 
chief certainly set it off very well, as the corals did, too, 
and the queer little Sicilian earrings. 

The booth was gaily decorated with fresh oranges 
and lemons still hanging on their branches with fresh 
green leaves, and with many little coloured flags; the 
small swinging Hrumone^ in which the water was iced 
hung in a yoke of polished brass, and the bright glasses 
and the bottles of syrup stood near Maria’s hand on 
the shining metal counter. 

It was a very delicately made hand, but it did not 
look weak, and it moved quickly and deftly among the 
glasses without any useless clatter or imnecessary 
spilling and splashing of water. Hands, like faces. 


6 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART 1 


have expressions, and the difference is that the expres- 
sion of the hand changes but little in many years. No 
artist could have glanced at Maria’s without feeling 
that it had a sad look about it, a something regretful 
and tender which would have made any manly man wish 
to take it in his and comfort it. 

The people who came to the booth gave silver for a 
glass of lemonade, and some gave gold, and many of 
them told Maria plainly that she was the prettiest sight 
in all the great fair. Most of those who came had 
never seen her before in their lives and had no idea 
who she was, though her name was one of those great 
ones that every Roman knows. 

A handsome young bricklayer who had paid a franc 
for a glass of syrup of almonds, and who had boldly 
told Maria that she was the beauty of the day, asked a 
policeman her name. 

^The Contessa di Montalto.’ 

The young man looked pleased, for he had secretly 
hoped to hear that she was nothing less than a Savelli 
or a Frangipane ; not at all for the sake of boasting that 
he had received his glass from such very superior hands, 
but only for the honour of Rome. Yet though the 
name was familiar to him because he knew where the 
palace was, he had imagined that the family had died 
out. 

'Which is this Montalto?’ he asked. 

The policeman could not answer the question, and 
his official face was like a stone mask. But the brick- 
layer had a friend who was engaged to marry a semp- 


CHAP. I 


MARIA 


7 


stress who worked for a smart dressmaker, and there- 
fore knew all about society ; and in the course of time 
he found the two walking about, and offered to pay 
for lemonade if they would come to the booth with 
him. They were not thirsty, and thanked him politely, 
so he asked the young woman who this Contessa di 
Montalto might be. She threw up her eyes with an air 
of compassion. 

'Ah, poor lady!’ she cried. 'That is a long story, 
for she has been alone these seven years since her hus- 
band left her. He was a barbarian, a man without 
heart, to leave her 1 Was it her fault if she had loved 
some one else before she was married to him ? ’ 

'Adehna is a socialist,’ observed the young woman’s 
betrothed, with a laugh. 'She believes in free love! 
It is all very well now, my heart,’ he added, looking at 
her with adoring eyes, 'but after we have been to the 
Capitol you shall be a conservative.’ 

'Oh, indeed? I suppose you will beat me if I look 
at yoiu- friend here?’ She pretended to be angry. 

'No. I am not a barbarian hke the Conte di Mont- 
alto. But I will cut off your httie head with a hand- 
saw.’ 

He was a carpenter. There were Romans of all 
sorts in the Villa, the smart and the vulgar, the rich 
and the poor, and the rich man who felt poor because 
he had lost a few thousands at cards, and the poor man 
who felt rich because he had won twenty francs at the 
pubhc lottery. The high and mighty were there, 
buzzing about royalties on foot, and there were the 


8 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART i 


lowly and meek, eating cheap cakes under the stone 
pines and looking on from a distance. There were also 
some of the low who were not meek at all, but exces- 
sively cheeky because they had been told that all men 
are equal, and had paid their money at the gate in order 
to prove the fact by jostling their betters and staring 
insolently at modest girls whose fathers chanced to be 
gentlemen. These youngsters could be easily distin- 
guished by their small pot hats stuck on one side, their 
red ties, and their imhealthy faces. 

At some distance from Maria Montalto’s booth there 
was another, where a number of Roman ladies chanced 
to have met just then and were discussing their friends. 
Most of them had a genuinely good word for Maria. 

M have not seen her in colours since her boy was 
born,^ said the elderly Princess Campodonico. ^She 
is positively adorable ! ’ 

^What is her story, mother?^ asked the Princess’s 
daughter, a slim and rather prim damsel of seventeen. 

^Her story, my dear?’ inquired the lady with a sort 
of stony stare. 'What in the world can you mean?’ 
She turned to a friend as stout, as high-born, and as 
cool as herself. 'I hear you have ordered a faster 
motor car,’ she said. 

The slim girl was used to her mother’s danger signals, 
and she turned where she stood end looked wistfully 
and curiously at Maria di Montalto, who was some 
twenty yards away. 

'As if I were not old enough to hear anything!’ the 
young lady was saying to herself. 


CHAP, I 


MARIA 


9 


Then she was aware that the two elder women were 
talking in an undertone, and not at all about motor 
cars. 

‘He is in Rome/ she heard her mother say. ‘Gian- 
forte saw him yesterday.’ Gianforte was the Princess’s 
husband. 

‘Do you mean to say he has the courage to ’ 

began the other. 

‘ Or the insolence/ suggested the first. 

Then both saw that the girl was listening, and they 
at once talked of other things. There is an age at 
which almost every half-grown-up girl is figuratively 
always at an imaginary keyhole ready to surprise a 
long-suspected secret, though often innocently uncon- 
scious of her own alert curiosity. This seems to have 
been the attitude of Eve herself when she met the Ser- 
pent, and though we are told that Adam was much 
distressed at the consequences of the interview, there 
is no mention of any regret or penitence on the part of 
his more enterprising mate. 

So the slim and prim Angelica Campodonico, aged 
barely seventeen, wondered what Maria Montalto’s 
story might be, and just then she felt the strongest 
possible desire to go over to the lemonade booth to tell 
the pretty Countess confidentially that ‘he’ was in 
Rome, whoever ‘ he ’ was, and to see how the lady 
would behave. Would she think that his coming 
showed ‘courage’ or ‘insolence’? It was all intensely 
interesting, and the girl would have been bitterly dis- 
appointed if she could have known that within twenty 


10 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


minutes of her going away ^ he ’ would actually be present 
and would have the insolence — or the courage ! — to 
go directly to the Countess of Montalto’s booth and 
speak to her under the very eyes of society. Unhappily 
for the satisfaction of Angelica’s curiosity her mother 
took her away, and it was a long time before she learned 
the truth about Maria. 

The Countess was not alone in her booth; indeed, 
she could not have done the manual work without a 
good deal of help, for at times there had been a dozen 
people standing before her little counter, all impatient 
and thirsty, and all ready to pay an exorbitant price 
for even a glass of water, in the name of charity. There- 
fore she not only had one of her own servants at work, 
out of sight in the little tent behind her, but several men 
who were more or less friends of hers had succeeded 
each other as her assistants during the long afternoon. 
They belonged to the younger generation of Romans, 
a set of young men whom their parents certainly never 
dreamt that they were rearing and whom their grand- 
fathers and grandmothers count with the sons of Belial, 
largely because they love their country better than the 
decrepit and forlorn traditions of other days. Forty 
years ago it would not have occurred to a Roman 
gentleman to call himself an Italian; but to-day most of 
his children call themselves Italians first and Romans 
afterwards, and to these younger ones Italy is a great 
reality. It is true that Romans have not lost their 
dislike of the inhabitants of almost all other Italian 
cities, whether of the south or the north. The Roman 


CHAP. I 


MARIA 


11 


dislikes the Neapolitan, the Piedmontese and the 
Bolognese with small difference of degree, and very 
much as they and the rest all dislike each other. Italy 
has its sects, like Christianity, which mostly live on 
bad terms with each other when forcibly brought to- 
gether in peaceable private life — like Presbyterians, 
Methodists, Anglicans, and Baptists, not to mention 
Roman Catholics. But as it is to be hoped that all 
Christians would unite against an inroad of heathens, 
so it is quite certain that all Italians would now stand 
loyally together for their country against any enemy 
that should try to dismember it. No one who can recall 
the old time before the unification can help seeing what 
has been built up. It is a good thing, it is a monument 
in the history of a race; as it grows, the petty land- 
marks of past pohtics disappear in the distance, to be 
forgotten, or at least forgiven, and the mountain of 
what Italy has accomplished stands out boldly in the 
political geography of modern Europe. 

Moreover, those who are too young to have helped 
in the work are nevertheless proud of what has been 
done; and this is itself a form of patriotism that brings 
with it the honest and good hope of doing something 
in the near future not unworthy of what was well done 
in the recent past. 

The young men who helped Maria Montalto to mix 
lemonade and almond syrup for her stall were of this 
generation, all between twenty and thirty years old, 
and mostly of those who follow the line of least resist- 
ance from the start of hfe to the finish. They are all 


12 


A LADY OF KOME 


PART I 


easily amused, because in their hearts they wish to be 
amused, and for the same reason they are easily bored 
when there is no amusement at all in the air. They 
are not bad fellows, they are often good sportsmen, 
and they are generally not at all vicious. They are 
not particularly good, it is true, but then they are very 
far from bad. They have less time for flirting and 
general mischief than their fathers had, because it new 
seems to be necessary to spend many hours of each day 
in a high-speed motor car, which is not conducive to 
the growth and blooming of the passion flower. It 
does not promote the development of the intelligence 
either, but that is a secondary consideration with people 
who need never know that they have minds. Morally, 
motoring is probably a good rather than an evil. People 
who live in constant danger of their lives are usually 
much more honest and fearless than those who dawdle 
through an existence of uneventful safety. The soldier 
in time of peace was the butt and laughing-stock of the 
ancients in the comedies of Plautus and Terence, and 
of the Greeks, whom those playwrights copied or 
adapted, but no such contemptuous use has ever been 
made of the sailor, whose hfe is in danger half a dozen 
times in every year. 

Oderisio Boccapaduh was squeezing a lemon into a 
glass for Maria when he saw her hand shake as if it had 
been struck, and the spoon which she was going to use 
for putting the powdered sugar into the glass fell from 
her fingers upon the metal counter with a sharp clatter. 
Oderisio glanced sideways at her face without interrupt- 


CHAP. I 


MARIA 


13 


ing the squeezing of the lemon, and he saw that the 
characteristic warmth had disappeared all at once 
from her natural pallor and that her white cheeks 
looked as cold as if she were in an ague. She was look- 
ing down when she took up the spoon again and drew 
the pohshed brass sugar-can nearer to her. The young 
man was quite sure that something had happened to 
disturb her, and he could only suppose that she felt 
suddenly tired and ill, or else that some one had 
appeared in sight not far from the booth, whose pres- 
ence was unexpected and disagreeable enough to give 
her a bad shock. 

But he knew much more about her than Angehca 
Campodonico, for he was six-and-twenty, and had been 
seventeen himself when Maria had married, and nine- 
teen when Montalto had left her; and since he had 
finished his military service and had been at large in 
society he had learned pretty much all that could be 
known about people who belonged to his set. He 
therefore scrutinised the face^ in the near distance, and 
presently he saw one which he had not seen in Rome 
for several years; once more he glanced sideways at 
Maria, and her hand was unsteady as she gave the full 
glass to a respectable old gentleman who was waiting 
for it in an attitude of admiration. 

The face was that of a man who was Oderisio’s cousin 
in a not very distant degree, and who bore the honour- 
able and historical name of Baldassare del Castighone. 
He was looking straight at Maria and was coming 
slowly towards her. 


14 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


Then Oderisio, who was an honest gentleman, saw 
that something unpleasant was going to happen, and 
on pretence of bringing fresh glasses from behind the 
booth, he slipped under the curtain into the tent ; but in- 
stead of getting the tumblers he quietly took his hat 
and stick and went away, telling the servant that he 
would send his brother or a friend to help the Contessa, 
as he was obliged to go home. Moreover, he carefully 
avoided passing in front of the booth lest Maria should 
think that he was watching her, and he went off to 
another part of the Kermxess. 

Meanwhile the old gentleman drank his lemonade, 
and it chanced that no other customer was at the 
counter when Castiglione reached it and took off his 
hat. He was a square-shouldered man of thirty or a 
little less, with short and thick brown hair and a rather 
heavy moustache, such as is often affected by cavalry- 
men; his healthy, sunburnt face made his rather hard 
eyes look very blue, and the well-shaped aquiline nose 
of the martial type, with the solid square jaw, conveyed 
the impression that he was a born fighting man, easily 
roused and soon dangerous, somewhat lawless and vio- 
lent by nature, but brave and straightforward. 

He took off his hat and bowed as he came up, neither 
stiffly nor at all familiarly, but precisely as he would 
have bowed to ninety-nine women out of a hundred 
whom he knew. He did not put out his hand, and he 
did not speak for a moment, apparently meaning to 
give Maria a chance to say something. 

Her hand was no longer shaking now, but the warmth 


CHAP. I 


MARIA 


15 


had not come back to her face, and when she slowly 
looked up and met the man’s eyes her own were coldly 
resentful. She did not speak; she merely met his look 
steadily, by an effort of will which he was far from 
understanding at the moment. 

‘I have left Milan on a fortnight’s leave,’ he said 
quietly. ‘ Will you let me come and see you ? ’ 

^Certainly not.’ 

The decided answer was given in a voice as calm as 
his own, but the tone would have convinced most men 
that there was to be no appeal from the direct refusal. 
Castiglione’s features hardened and his jaw seemed 
more square than ever. There was a look of brutal 
strength in his face at that moment, though his voice 
was gentle when he spoke. 

^Have you never thought of forgiving me?’ he asked. 

M have prayed that I might.’ Maria fixed her eyes 
fearlessly on his. 

^But your prayer has not been answered, I suppose,’ 
he said, with some contempt, and with an evident lack 
of belief in the efficacy of prayer in general. 

^No,’ Maria answered. ‘God has not yet granted 
what I ask every day.’ 

Castiglione looked at her still. It was strange that 
the face of such a man should be capable of many 
shades of expression, so subtle that only a portrait 
painter of genius could have defined them and repro- 
duced any one of them, while most men would hardly 
have noticed them all. Yet every woman with whom he 
talked felt that his face often said more than his words. 


16 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


The keen blue light in his eyes softened at Maria’s 
simple answer to his contemptuous speech ; the strength 
■was in his face still, but without the brutality. She 
saw, and remembered why she had loved him too well, 
and when he spoke she turned away lest she should 
remember more. 

beg your pardon for what I said. I am sorry. 
Please forgive me.’ 

‘ Yes,’ she answered, can forgive that, for you did 
not mean it.’ 

She looked behind her, for she had been expecting 
Oderisio to come back at any moment. The booth was 
so small that she could lift the curtain without leaving 
the counter. She looked under it and saw that Oderisio 
was gone, and she guessed that he knew something and 
had seen Castiglione coming; instead of being grateful 
to him for leaving her, she at first resented his going 
away and bit her lip ; for she was a very womanly woman, 
and every woman is annoyed that any man should know 
any secret of hers which she has not told him. But 
later, when she was thinking over what had happened, 
she felt that Oderisio had done what a gentleman should, 
according to his lights ; for he must have known that the 
two had not seen each other for years, and that such a 
meeting could hardly take place without some show of 
feeling on one side or the other. 

Castiglione thanked her gently for her answer, and 
was going to say more, but she interrupted him, and 
suddenly began to busy herself with a lemon and a 


CHAP. I 


MARIA 


17 


‘I am making you a lemonade/ she said in a low 
voice. ‘There are some people we know coming to 
the booth. Do not turn round to look.^ 

The new-comers were two rather young women and 
a man who was not the husband of either. Castiglione 
knew them too, as Maria was well aware, and she would 
not have let them find him there, talking to her, without 
so much as a lemonade for an excuse. 

But the necessity for the small artifice, the low tone 
in which she had been obliged to speak, and, above all, 
the close connection of that necessity with the past, 
had slightly changed the situation. 

‘ I shall go to your house to-morrow at three o’clock,^ 
said Castiglione in a tone which the approaching party 
could not possibly have heard. ‘Not much sugar, if 
you please,’ he added very audibly and without paus- 
ing a second. 

Again she bit her lip a little, and she drew a short 
breath which he heard, and she shook her head, but it 
was impossible to answer him otherwise, for the three 
new-comers were close to the booth, and a moment 
later they were greeting her and Castiglione. The man 
was one of the now numerous Saracinesca tribe, a 
married son of the gigantic old Marchese di San Giacinto, 
who was still alive, and who had married Flavia Mon- 
tevarchi nearly forty years earlier. His companions 
were the Marchesa di Parenzo, the Roman wife of a 
gentleman of Bologna, and Donna Teresa Crescenzi, 
whose wild husband had been killed in a motor-car 
accident at last, and who was supposed to be looking 


18 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


for another. The Marchesa di Parenzo was Maria 
Montalto’s most faithful friend, and Donna Teresa was 
one of the most accomplished gossips in Rome. 

An accomplished gossip is one who tells stories 
which sound as if they might be true. This kind is 
very dangerous. 

Neither of these two ladies knew all the truth about 
Maria and CastigHone; the difference between them 
was that the Marchesa never talked of the story, whereas 
Donna Teresa had concocted a tale which she repeated 
at intervals in the course of years, with constantly in- 
creasing precision of detail and dramatic sequence, 
till society had almost accepted it as an accurate account 
of what had taken place. 

In actual fact there was not a word of truth in it, 
except that Maria and CastigHone had loved each 
other dearly. Donna Teresa was a tolerably good- 
natured woman on the whole, however, and her story 
gave Maria credit for the most splendid self-sacrifice 
and the most saintly life; it represented Baldassare del 
CastigHone as a hero worthy of his knightly ancestor 
and a perfect Galahad, so far as Maria was concerned; 
and it threw every particle of the blame on Montalto, 
who had left his wife to go and live in Spain, and was 
therefore permanently enrolled amongst those absent 
friends whose healths are drunk at family gatherings 
with a secret prayer that they may remain absent for 
ever, and whose characters may be torn to rags and 
tatters with perfect safety. 

Donna Teresa had reached the point of believing her 


CHAP. I 


MARIA 


19 


own story. She said she had been present at almost 
every crisis in the two years’ drama which had so com- 
pletely separated three people that they apparently 
meant never to set eyes on one another again; she had 
consoled the lovers, she had inspired them with courage 
to sacrifice themselves, and had metaphorically dried 
their scalding tears; and she had spoken her mind to 
that monster of brutality, the Count of Montalto. In 
fact, she had contributed to his determination to go 
away for ever and to leave his poor young wife to bring 
up his son in peace. 

Maria knew Donna Teresa’s story well, for her friend 
Giuhana Parenzo had told it to her; and as Maria was 
in no way called upon to make a public denial of it, she 
simply said nothing and was grateful to the gossip for 
treating her so kindly. Giuliana was not curious, and 
if she rightly guessed some part of the secret which her 
friend had never told her, she would not for worlds 
have asked her a question. 

The three new-comers were all in the best possible 
humour, and the ladies wore perfectly new spring 
frocks of the very becoming model that was in fashion 
that spring; the one was of the palest grey and the 
other of the softest dove-colour. Giuliana was a dark 
woman with a quiet face; Teresa Crescenzi was very 
fair, fairer, perhaps, than all probability, and when she 
was excited she screamed. 

'Dear Maria!’ she cried in a high key, after the first 
words of greeting. 'You are quite adorable in that 
costume! The Princess Campodonico was saying just 


20 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


now that it is a real pleasure to see you in colours at 
last. Maria has worn nothing but black and grey for 
seven years/ added the lively lady, turning to Cas- 
tiglione. 

^We all are dying of thirst,’ said Giuliana, seeing the 
look of annoyance in her friend’s face. ^We all want 
lemonade, and we all want it at once. Won’t you let 
me come inside and help you?’ 

^No, dear,’ answered Maria with a grateful look. 

really do not need help, and you do not look at all 
like a Neapolitan Acquaiola in that frock! Besides, 
Oderisio Boccapaduli is supposed to be my adjutant, 
but he has gone off to smoke a cigarette.’ 

She was very busy, and Donna Teresa turned to 
Castighone. 

^And where in the world have you been since I met 
you in Florence last year ? ’ she asked. ^ I thought your 
regiment was coming to Rome at the beginning of the 
winter. I am sure you told me so.’ 

^You are quite right. My old regiment came to 
Rome before Christmas, but I had already exchanged 
into another.’ 

In spite of herself Maria glanced at Castiglione as he 
spoke, but he was not looking at her, nor even at Donna 
Teresa. From the place where the booth was situated 
he could see a certain clump of ilex-trees that gi'ow near 
what has always been called the Piazza di Siena, I 
know not why. Maria saw that his eyes were fixed on 
that point, and she shivered a little, as if she felt cold. 

^Why did you exchange?’ Donna Teresa asked, with 


CHAP. I 


MARIA 


21 


the shameless directness of a thoroughly inquisitive 
woman. ^Did you quarrel with your colonel, or fight 
a duel with a brother officer ? ’ 

Castiglione smiled and looked at her. 

^Oh, no! Nothing so serious! It was only because 
I was sure that you no longer loved me, dear Teresa ! ’ 
The younger generation of Romans, who have grown 
up more gregariously than their parents did, very 
generally call each other by their first names. Even 
Giuliana laughed at Castiglione’s answer, and Maria 
herself smiled quite naturally. Five minutes earlier 
she would not have beheved that anything could make 
her smile while he stood there, and she was displeased 
with herself for being amused. It was as if she had 
yielded a little where she meant never to yield 
again. 

Donna Teresa herself laughed louder than Giufiana. 
^The impertinence of the man!’ she screamed. ^As 
if I did not know that curiosity is my besetting sin, 
without being reminded of it in that brutal way! I, 
love you, Balduccio? I detest you! You are an 
odious man ! ’ 

^You see!’ he answered. ^I was quite right to ex- 
change ! And since you admit that you find me odious, 
this is an excellent moment for me to go away ! ’ 

He put down a gold piece on the metal counter to 
pay for the lemonade which he had not drunk, for he 
was a poor man and could not afford to be mean. As a 
matter of fact, the lemonade which Maria had so hastily 
begun to make for him had been finished for Teresa 


22 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


Crescenzi, but no one had noticed that, and it was all 
for charity. 

Donna Teresa protested that it was atrocious of him 
to go away, but he was quite unmoved. He only 
smiled at everybody, took young Saracinesca’s out- 
stretched hand and lifted his hat in a vague way to the 
three ladies without looking particularly at any of 
them. Then he turned and went off at a leisurely pace, 
and soon disappeared in the crowd. Teresa watched 
Maria Montalto’s face narrowly, but she could not 
detect the slightest change of expression in it, either of 
disappointment or of satisfaction. Maria had recovered 
herself and the sweet warmth was in her pale cheeks 
again. 

The spring sun was low and golden, and for a few 
moments the pretty scene took more colour; by some 
inexplicable law of nature the many laughing voices 
rang more musically as the light grew richer, just be- 
fore it began to fade. It was the last day of the fair, 
and Maria knew that she should never forget it. 

Then the chill came that always falls just before sun- 
set in Rome, and the people felt it and began to hurry 
away. No one would ask for another lemonade now. 

Before Maria went home she put the money she had 
taken into a rather shabby grey velvet bag. For a 
few moments she stood still, watching the fast-diminish- 
ing crowd in the distance and the changing hght on the 
trunks of the pines. Then her eyes fell imawares on 
the ilexes, and she started and instantly bent down her 
head so as not to see them, and her hands tightened a 


CHAP. I 


MARIA 


23 


little on the old velvet bag she held. Without looking 
up again she turned and went under the curtain to the 
back of the booth where her footman was waiting with 
a long cloak that quite hid her pretty costume ; and she 
covered her head and the crimson kerchief with a thick 
black lace veil, and went away towards the avenue 
where her brougham was waiting. 

Just before she reached it, and as if quite by accident, 
Oderisio Boccapaduli came strolling by. He helped 
her to get in and begged her to excuse him if he had not 
come back to the booth before she had left it, adding 
that he had met his mother, which was quite true, and 
that she had detained him, which was a stretch of his 
imagination. 

' Get in with me,^ Maria answered as he stood at the 
open door of the carriage. 'If you are going away, too, 
I will take you into town and drop you wherever you 
like.’ 

He thanked her and accepted the invitation with 
alacrity, though he wondered why it was given. He 
could not have understood that she was physically 
afraid to be alone with her memory just then. 


CHAPTER II 


Maria asked her friend Giuliana Parenzo to lunch with 
her the next day. If Baldassare Castiglione came at 
three o’clock, and if it seemed wiser not to refuse him 
the door outright, he should at least not find her alone. 

The Countess occupied one floor of a rather small 
house in the broad Via San Martino, near the railway 
station. It was a sunny apartment, furnished very 
simply but very prettily. After her husband had left 
her she had declined to accept any allowance from him 
and had moved out of the old palace, in which the state 
apartment was now shut up, while the rest of the great 
building was now occupied by a cardinal, an insurance 
company, and a rich Chicago widow. Maria hved on 
her own fortune, which was not large, but was enough, 
as she had been an only child and both her parents 
were dead. 

Giuliana sat on her right at the small square table, 
and on her left was seated a sturdy boy over eight 
years old, and lately promoted to sailor’s clothes. 
Why are all boys now supposed to go to sea between 
six and eight or nine, or even until ten and twelve ? 

Leone was a handsome child. He had thick brown 
hair and a fair complexion ; his bright blue eyes flashed 
when he was in a rage, as he frequently was, and his 
24 


CHAP, n 


MARIA 


25 


jaw was already square and strong. Maria was the only 
person who could manage him, and was apparently the 
only one to whom he could become attached. He be- 
haved very well with Giuliana Parenzo; but though she 
did her best to make him fond of her, she was quite 
well aware that she never succeeded in obtaining any- 
thing more from him than a kind of amusing boyish 
civility and pohte toleration. As for nurses, he had 
made the lives of several of them so miserable that they 
would not stay in the house, and Maria had now eman- 
cipated him from women, greatly to his delight. He 
submitted with a tolerably good grace to being dressed 
and taken to walk by a faithful old man-servant who 
had been with Maria’s father before she had been born. 
He was not what is commonly known as a ^naughty 
boy’; he spoke the truth fearlessly, and did not seek 
delight in torturing animals or insects; but his inde- 
pendence and his power of resistance, passive and 
active, were amazing for such a small boy, and he 
seemed not to understand what danger was. Maria did 
not remember that he had ever cried, either, even when 
he was in arms. Altogether, at the age of eight, Leone 
di Montalto was a personage with whom it was neces- 
sary to reckon. 

Maria knew that she loved him almost to the verge 
of weakness, but she would not have been the woman 
she was if she had been carried beyond that limit. He 
was all she had left in hfe, and so far as lay in her she 
meant that he should be a Christian gentleman. Nature 
seemed to have made him without fear; and Maria 


26 


A LADY OF KOME 


PART I 


would hav6 him reach a man’s estate without reproach. 
It was not going to be easy, but she was determined to 
succeed. It was the least she could do to atone for her 
one great fault. 

Without reproach he should grow up, for his very 
being was a reproach to her. That was the bitterest 
thing in her lonely existence, that the sight of what she 
loved best, and in the best way, should always remind 
her of the blot in her own life, of that moment of half- 
consenting weakness when she had been at the mercy of 
a desperate, daring, ruthless man whom she could not 
help loving. It was cruel that her only great consola- 
tion, the one living creature on whom she had a right 
to bestow every care and thought of her loving heart, 
should for ever call up the vision of her one and only 
real sin. 

There were moments when the mother’s devotion to 
her child felt like a real temptation, when she asked 
herself in self-torment whether it was all for the boy 
alone, or whether some part of it was not for that 
which should never be, for what she had fought so hard 
to thrust out of her heart since the day when she had 
married Montalto, nine years ago. For she had loved 
Castiglione even then, and before that, when she had 
been barely seventeen and he but twenty, and they 
had danced together one autumn evening at the Villa 
Montalto, at a sort of party that had not been considered 
a real party, and to which her mother had taken her 
because she wished to go to it herself, or perhaps be- 
cause she wanted Montalto to see her pretty daughter 


CHAP. II MARIA 27 

and fall in love with her before she was out of the 
schoolroom. 

And that was what had happened. It had all been 
fated from the first. On that very night Montalto fell 
in love with her, and she with Baldassare del Castiglione, 
whom she had called Balduccio, and who had called her 
Maria, ever since they had known each other as httle 
children. On that night she had felt that he was a man, 
and no longer a boy. It was the first time she had seen 
him in his new officer's uniform, for it was not a week 
since he had got his commission. But she had hardly 
known Montalto, who had been brought up much more 
in Spain and Belgium than in Rome, because his mother 
was Spanish and his father had been a black of the old 
school, who feared the ^ godless ' education of modern 
Italy. 

Giuliana Parenzo was a year or two older than Maria, 
and the latter had felt for her the boundless admiration 
which very young girls sometimes have for those slightly 
older ones in whom they see their ideals. Giuliana had 
been a thoroughly good girl, had married happily, was a 
thoroughly good wife, and was the conscientious mother 
of five children; but she was very far from being the 
saintly heroine her friend's imagination had made of her. 

She was morally lucky. Without in the least de- 
preciating the intrinsic value of her virtue, it is quite 
fair to ask what she might have done if she had ever 
been placed in the same situation as her friend. But 
this never happened to her, though she was apparently 
not without those gifts and qualities that suggest enter- 


28 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


prise on the part of admirers. She had been a very 
pretty girl, and in spite of much uneventful happiness 
and five children she was considered to be a beautiful 
v/oman at nme-and-twenty ; and, moreover, she was 
extremely smart. In looks she was not at all hke a 
rigid Roman matron. 

But temptation had not come her way : it had passed 
by on the other side, and she could hardly understand 
how it could exist for others, since it certainly had never 
existed for her. There are people who go through life 
without accidents ; they cross the ocean in utterly rotten 
steamers without knowing of the danger, they travel in 
the last train that runs before the one that is wrecked, 
they go out in high-speed motors with rash amateur 
chauffeurs who are killed the very next day, they leave 
the doomed city on the eve of the great earthquake, and 
the theatre five minutes before the fire breaks out. 

Similarly, there are women who are morally so lucky 
that an accident to their souls is almost an impossibility. 
Giuliana Parenzo was one of them, and Maria's affec- 
tion gave her credit for strength because she had never 
faced a storm. Not that it mattered much, after all. 
The important thing was that Maria, even at the worst 
crisis of her young life, had always looked upon her 
spotless friend as her guide and her ideal. Yet there 
had been a time when it would have been only too easy 
for her to look another way. 

To-day Maria had turned to Giuliana naturally in 
her difficulty. It was hardly a trouble yet, but Cas- 
tiglione's return and his intended visit w^ere the first 


CHAP, n 


MARIA 


29 


incidents that had disturbed her outwardly peaceful 
life in all the seven years that had passed since her 
husband had left Rome. The rest had been within her. 

It would not last long. Castiglione had said that he 
had only a fortnight’s leave, and with the most moderate 
desire to avoid him, she need not meet him more than 
two or three times while he was in Rome. To refuse 
to receive him once would perhaps look to him like fear 
or weakness, and she believed that she was strong and 
brave; yet she did not wish to see him alone, not be- 
cause she was afraid of him, but because to be alone 
with him a few moments, even as she had been yester- 
day afternoon, brought the past too near, and it hurt 
her. 

Giuliana often lunched with her friend, and was far 
from suspecting that she had been asked for a special 
reason to-day. The two talked of indifferent matters, 
much as usual, and presently went into the drawing- 
room. It was warm already, and the blinds were closed 
to keep out the blazing sunlight and the reflection 
from the white street. The friends sat near each other, 
exchanging a few words now and then, and both were 
preoccupied, which hindered each from noticing that 
the other was so. 

Leone knelt on a chair at the window looking down 
into the street between the slits of the green blinds. 

^Summer is coming!’ he suddenly called out, turning 
to look at his mother. 

^Yes,’ she answered, smiling at him merely because 
he spoke. ^It will come soon.’ 


30 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


^But do you know why? There are two bersaglieri 
in linen trousers/ 

^Yes, dear. They have probably been drilling.' 

^No/ answered the small boy. ^They have no knap- 
sacks and no rifles, and they are not dusty. It is be- 
cause summer is coming that they wear linen trousers. 
I can't see them any more. They walk so fast, you 
know. When shall I be a bersagliere, mama ? ' 

^ Would you not rather be a sailor?' asked Giuliana. 

^Oh, no!' Leone laughed. sailor? To sit inside 
an iron box and shoot off guns at other iron boxes? 
That's not fighting! But the bersaglieri, they charge 
the enemy and kill them with their bayonets. And 
sometimes they are killed themselves. But that 
doesn't matter, for they have had the glory ! ' 

AVhat glory?' inquired Maria, watching the small 
boy's flashing eyes. 

^ They kill the enemies of Italy,' he answered. ^ That's 
glory!' 

He turned to look through the blinds again, doubt- 
less in the hope of seeing more soldiers. 

^Your son certainly has a warlike disposition, my 
dear,' laughed Giuliana. 

But Maria did not laugh ; on the contrary, she looked 
rather grave. 

^All boys want to be soldiers,' she answered. H'm 
sure yours do, too!' 

^No,' said Giidiana, rising. ^My boys are almost 
too peaceable ! I sometimes wish they had more of 
Leone's spirit!' 


CHAP. II 


MARIA 


31 


Maria looked at her thoughtfully, thinking at first 
of what she had said, but suddenly realised that she 
had left her seat. 

'You are not going already?^ Maria cried in real 
anxiety. 

'Yes, dear, I must. It’s a quarter past two, and I 
have to allow five minutes for driving to the QuirinaL’ 

'You did not tell me that you had an audience to- 
day,’ said Maria, deeply disappointed. 'I’m so sorry! 
I had hoped you would stay with me, and that we might 
go out together by and by. How long shall you be 
there? Can you not come directly back?’ 

Giuliana was a little surprised; she shook her head 
doubtfully. 

'I’ll try to come back, but I really have not the least 
idea how long I may be kept. You see, it’s a special 
audience to talk about my working women’s institute, 
and I have so much to say. I really must be going, 
dear ! ’ 

She glanced again at her little watch, which was 
fastened high up on the close-fitting dove-coloured 
body of her frock by a little jade bar carved to imitate 
the twist of a rope, and just then the very latest inven- 
tion in the way of indispensable nothings. Giuliana, 
without the least coquetry and with very little vanity 
as to her appearance, always seemed to have everything 
new just a week sooner than any one else. The truth 
was that her husband was in love with her, and likely 
to remain so, and as he had spent a good deal of his 
youth in women’s society, he thoroughly understood 


32 


A LADY OF ROME 


PABT I 


such matters; and he superintended the docile and 
pretty Giuliana’s toilet with quite as much care as he 
gave to the direction of his subordinates, though he 
was Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, with 
a very promising future before him and a good deal to 
do. 

Giuhana kissed her friend on both cheeks and said 
good-bye to Leone, who did not like to be kissed at all, 
and in a moment she was gone. 

Maria went to the window where the boy was, and, 
resting one hand on his shoulder, she bent down beside 
him and looked through the blinds. 

^Have you seen any more soldiers?’ she asked, after 
a moment, and as if the question were an important 
one. 

^Only two,’ he answered. ^They’re all at dinner now. 
It’s the time.’ 

Her face was close to the child’s as she looked out 
with him; and just then he moved his head and his 
short and thick brown hair brushed her cheek. She 
started a little nervously and stood upright, looking 
down at the top of his head. 

^What is it, mama?’ he asked without taking his 
eyes from the blinds, for just then he saw an officer of 
the Piedmont Lancers crossing the street, and the 
beautiful uniform of that regiment was always an espe- 
cially delightful sight. 

^Nothing, darling,’ answered Maria. 

As she looked at the short and thick brown hair it 
seemed to draw her to it, and she bent slowly, as if she 


CHAP, n 


MARIA 


33 


were going to kiss it. But at that very moment, when 
her hps were quite near it, her eyes could see through 
the blinds, and she caught sight of the officer before he 
disappeared. 

She drew back and quickly covered her lips with her 
hand, as if to put it between her mouth and her child’s 
head. Castiglione had been in the Piedmont Lancers 
before he had exchanged, and the uniform was the one 
he had worn when he had first danced with her at the 
Villa Montalto, and afterwards, when he had first dined 
with her and her husband, and later again, and the last 
time she had seen him before he had gone away. The 
handsome dress was associated with all her life. 

She crossed the room quickly and rang a bell, and 
waited a moment, listening for the servant. She would 
say that she did not receive, no matter who came. 
Then she heard footsteps outside the drawing-room 
door, and it opened wide and Agostino, the old butler, 
announced a visitor. 

^11 Signor Conte del Castiglione.’ 

When Baldassare entered the room a moment later, 
Leone had left the window and was at his mother’s side, 
holding her hand and eyeing the man he had never 
seen, and whose name he had never heard, with a boy’s 
boldly inquiring stare ; and the blue eyes of the man and 
of the child met for the first time. 

came early,’ said Castiglione as he advanced, 'fori 
was afraid you might be going to the races.’ 

'No,’ Maria answered, steadying herself by the table, 
'I am not going to the races to-day.’ 


34 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


He held out his hand, and she could not well refuse 
to take it, before Leone ; its touch was quiet and respect- 
ful, and only lasted an instant, but it was even colder 
than her own. 

^And this is your son,^ he said, in a rather muffled 
voice, and he shook hands with the lad. ^I’m glad to 
see you,’ he said. knew your mother long before 
you were born, and we^were good friends. But I have 
been away all these years. That is the reason why you 
have never seen me.’ 

‘1 understand,’ Leone answered. ^ Where have you 
been ? ’ 

Castiglione smiled at the direct question and the 
unhesitating tone. 

have been in many cities. I am a soldier, and have 
to go where I am sent.’ 

At this intelligence Leone felt sure that he had found 
a new friend. He looked upon all soldiers as his friends, 
from the poor little infantryman in his long grey woollen 
coat to the King when he appeared in uniform. He at 
once laid his hand on Castiglione’s arm and looked up 
into his face. 

^Are you a bersagliere ? ’ the boy asked. 

Maria still leant against the table, and as she watched 
the two, the man and the boy, and saw their bright 
blue eyes and their short and thick brown hair, the room 
began to move, as if it were going slowly round her. 
She had never fainted in her life, but she realised that 
unless she made a great effort she must certainly faint 
now. She did not hear Castiglione’s answer to the boy’s 


CHAP. II 


MARIA 


35 


last question, but she raised her hand to her mouth, 
and set her small teeth upon her forefinger and bit it 
till a tiny drop of blood came, and the pain brought her 
back. 

When she could speak steadily she sat down near 
the closed fireplace, before Vv^hich there was a glass 
screen; she pointed to an arm-chair opposite, and Cas- 
tiglione took it. 

Leone had been taught that when visitors came in 
the afternoon he was to go away after a few minutes 
without being told to do so. Accordingly, as soon as 
he saw that his mother and Baldassare were going to 
talk, he went up to the latter and held out his hand. 

^Good-bye,’ he said gravely. ^The next time you 
come, please wear your uniform.’ 

^If I come again. I’ll wear it,’ answered Castiglione, 
smiling. 

But Maria saw how earnestly his eyes studied the 
boy’s face, and how he held the small hand as if he did 
not wish to let it go. He watched the sturdy little 
fellow till the door was shut, and Maria saw that he 
checked a sigh. For the first time in years the two were 
alone together within four walls, and at first there was 
silence between them. 

Maria spoke first, very coldly and resentfully, for 
since Leone had left the room she had no reason for 
hiding what she felt. 

^ Why have you come ? ’ she asked. ‘1 told you clearly 
that I did not wish to see you. You said, too, that you 
would come at three, and when you appeared I was just 


36 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


going to tell Agostino that I would see no one. You 
came earlier than you said you would, and it was a trick 
to catch me. Such things are unworthy/ 

Castiglione had clasped his hands on one knee, and 
he bent his head while she was speaking. When she 
had finished he looked up with an expression she had 
never seen in his face, and he spoke in a gentle and 
almost pleading tone. 

^Let me tell you what I have come to Rome to 
say.' 

'I would rather not hear it,' Maria answered coldly. 
‘I would rather that you should say nothing during the 
few minutes I shall have to let you stay — for I do not 
wish any one to think that I have turned you out of my 
house.' 

Her face was like a mask, and white, for it cost her 
much to say the words. 

H have not come to persecute you, Maria,' he an- 
swered sorrowfully. have not loved you faithfully 
all these years to come and pain you now.' 

Maria Montalto's lip curled. 

^Faithfully!' The contemptuous tone told all her 
unbelief. 

^Yes, I mean it. I have loved you faithfully since 
we parted, as I loved you before.' 

H do not believe you; or I do not understand what 
you mean by faith.' 

Ht is easy to understand. Since you and I parted 
under the ilex-trees I have not spoken of love to any 
woman. I have lived a clean life.' 


CHAP. II 


MARIA 


37 


Something clutched at the woman’s heart just then, 
but the next moment she spoke as coldly as before. 

^It is easy to say such things/ she answered. 

^What I say is true/ returned Castighone quietly. 
^ But if I tell you this of myself, it is not because I hope 
to bring your love to life again. I know how dead that 
is. I know I killed it — yes, I know ! ’ 

He spoke with the tone and accent of a man in great 
pain, and looked down at his clasped hands; but Maria 
turned her face from him, for she felt the clutching at 
her heart again. He must not know that he was wrong, 
and that she loved him still in spite of everything. 
She would force herself not to beheve him. 

^ How well you act ! ’ she said, with cruel scorn. 

He did not resent even that. He had violently 
broken and ruined her whole hfe long ago; why should 
she be kind to him? 

H am not acting, and I am not lying,’ he answered 
gravely. H have been faithful to you all these years. 
It is no credit to me, and I ask none, for I love you 
truly.’ 

^How am I to beheve you?’ Maria asked, not con- 
temptuously now, but stiU coldly. 'Why should I?’ 

He raised his eyes and met hers steadily, and she saw 
that there was no mistaking the truth. 

'I give you my word of honour,’ he said slowly, and 
waited. 

She could not speak then, because her joy was so 
great, in spite of herself; and he would not say more; 
he only waited while she looked steadily at the mantel- 


38 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


piece, choking down something and hoping that he 
could not see her face clearly in the rather dim light. 
He would not stoop to ask if she believed his word, 
and she was dumb. It was too much, all at once. 

Presently, when she thought she could trust her 
voice, she tried to speak. It had seemed a long time. 

‘It is ’ she began. 

But she broke off, for she felt the great cry coming 
in the word that should have followed. Therefore in- 
stead of speaking she held out her hand to him and 
turned her face away from his. They were just so 
near that by leaning far forward he could hold her 
fingers. He pressed them quietly for one moment, a 
little hard, perhaps, but with no attempt to hold them. 

‘Thank you,’ he said, not very steadily. 

She had regretted the little impulsive action at once, 
expecting that he would kiss her hand, as almost any 
man might have done with less reason. But she was 
glad that he had not; glad, and grateful to him. Per- 
haps he knew it, but she was able to speak now; he 
should not think that he had gained a hairbreadth’s 
advantage. 

‘I am glad that you have lived a good life,’ she said, 
much more kindly than she had spoken yet. ‘ But you 
must not call it faithfulness. You must not mean that 
you have been faithful to the memory of a great sin, 
of the worst deed you ever did. It would have been 
much better to forget me.’ 

‘You do not understand,’ he answered. ‘My sins 
are on my soul, and yours with them, if you have any. 


CHAP. II 


MARIA 


39 


I am wicked enough to hope that I may never forget 
you, and that I may hve till I die as I have lived since 
we parted. It is the least I can do, not for your sake, 
but out of respect for myself and regret for the worst 
deed I ever did. Yes, you are right, it was that. The 
question that fills my life is this : Can I in any way atone 
to you for that deed? Can you ever forgive me so far 
as not to hate me, and not to despise the mere thought 
of me, so far as to be willing that I should live in the 
same city with you and see you sometimes?’ 

He waited for her answer, but it was long before it 
came. When she tried to collect her thoughts she 
was amazed and frightened by the change that had 
come over her in the last few minutes. Her impulse 
was to confess frankly that she had always loved him, 
though she could not forgive him, and to implore him 
to go away and never to come near her again ; and then 
she remembered that she had said those very words to 
him long ago under the ilex-trees in the Villa Borghese, 
with many cruel ones which neither had forgotten. 
He had given up his leave then, and had gone back to 
his regiment in a distant city, and he had never come 
near her nor written to her since. 

But there was more than that, much more. He had 
lived a clean life. She knew the world well enough 
now, and she knew what the lives of most unmarried 
men are at Castiglione’s age. Had she not a son to 
bring up, for whom she prayed daily that he might 
grow to manhood without reproach as well as without 
fear? She knew something of how men lived, and she 


40 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


could guess, as far as an honest woman may, at the 
daily temptations that must assail a good-looking young 
officer in the smartest cavalry regiment in the country; 
she guessed, too, that one who chose to live very dif- 
ferently from most of his comrades might not always 
escape jests which would not turn to actual ridicule 
only because Castighone was not a man to be laughed 
at with impunity ; not by any means. 

She believed him, and though she might tell him that 
he was faithful to a sin, to something dangerously near 
a crime, his faith had been for her, and she could not 
deny it to herself. It was for her sake that he had not 
lived like the rest. 

Then she covered her eyes with her hand and she 
saw her own past life clearly, and dared to look at it. 
The ugly blot was there, plain enough; but if the fault 
had really been all his, why should the stain look so 
very black after all those years? He believed that he 
had sinned against her, not with her; and so she had 
told herself — and had told him so with bitter re- 
proaches before they had parted. Was it quite, quite 
true? If it was, she had no cause to reproach herself 
for the catastrophe. Yet since that hour she had accused 
herself daily. Of what? Of having loved Baldassare 
del Castiglione? But she had loved him innocently 
and dearly when she was seventeen, and ever since. 
Her mother had known it, but he was poor, he was no 
match for a girl who was something of an heiress. She 
had done as many other girls did and always will do; 
she had yielded to parental pressure, she had promised 


CHAP. II 


MARIA 


41 


herself to forget, thinking it would be easy; she had 
married Montalto, making the great marriage of that 
season ; she had begun to be a wife believing, poor soul, 
that she had done right in obeying her mother as a 
daughter should. But she had not forgotten. 

Even that was no sin. It was her misfortune, and 
the natural consequence of a false system that sacrificed 
too much to money, or to money and name. She had 
actually been vain of marrying Montalto, for though 
he bore only the title of count, he was an authentic 
Count of the Empire, which is quite a different matter 
from being a Roman ^conte.’ It had been a very great 
marriage indeed, and Maria had realty been a little 
foolishly vain of becoming his wife. He had two his- 
toric castles in Italy as well as an historical palace in 
Rome and an historical estate on the Austrian frontier, 
and he was heir to historical lands in Spain by his 
mother ; and he had a great number of historic ancestors 
who had. been Counts of the Empire and Grandees of 
Spain, and hereditary Knights of the Sovereign Order 
of Malta. Everything about Montalto was historical, 
including his grave face and pointed black beard, and 
he might have passed for the original of more than one 
portrait in his historic gallery. His family even had a 
well-attested White Lady who appeared when one of 
them was going to die! 

But all these things could not make the young wife 
forget Baldassare del Castiglione, who was only a more 
or less penniless officer in the Piedmont Lancers. The 
worst of it was that Montalto liked him, instinctively 


42 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


because his name was also so extremely historical, and 
fatally because husbands are the last to discover their 
wives’ preferences. Montalto had thrown Maria and 
Castiglione together. 

She had gone to confession again a^d again, for she 
had been brought up to be very devout. Her con- 
fessor told her each time that she must avoid the man 
she loved and pray to forget him. She answered that 
her husband liked him and constantly asked him to the 
house; that she could not beg Montalto to change his 
attitude towards a friend without giving a good reason ; 
and that the only reason she had was that she loved 
Baldassare with all her heart, though she was told it was 
wrong now that she was married, and she prayed that 
she might forget him and love her husband. Her con- 
fessor, having ascertained by further questions that she 
and Castiglione had avowed their love for each other 
in bygone days, long before her marriage, bade her 
appeal to the young man’s generosity, and beg him to 
refuse Montalto’s constant invitations and to see her as 
little as possible. But the confessor did not know the 
man. Maria followed the priest’s advice, but Baldas- 
sare utterly refused to do what she asked, and became 
more and more unmanageable from that day. Surely 
that was not her fault. It was not with this that she 
reproached herself. She had been afraid to tell Mont- 
alto, that was true; there had been one day, at last, 
when she should have confessed to him, instead of to 
the priest; she should have thrown herself upon his 
mercy and implored him to take her away. But then 


CHAP. II 


MARIA 


43 


she had lacked courage. She had told herself that her 
husband loved her devotedly in his silent, respectful 
way, and that to tell him the truth would be the ruin 
of his happiness. She felt so sure that his honour was 
safe ! And meanwhile Castiglione grew more passionate 
every day, more reckless and more uncontrollable; and 
she loved him the more, and he knew it, though she 
would not tell him so. She accused herself of that. 
She should have gone to her husband for protection, 
for his happiness was far less to him then than his 
honour. Some women would have invented an un- 
truth as a means justified by the end. Maria might 
have told Montalto that she was suffering a persecution 
odious to her; she would have saved her husband’s 
honour and happiness together, and would even have 
raised her higher in his esteem. But she could not do 
it. It would be base, treacherous, and faithless. So 
she waited and prayed against her heart, and hoped 
against Castiglione’s nature. Then came the evil hour 
and it was too late; too late even to lie. She accused 
herself of having put off too long the one act that could 
have saved her. But still, and to the end, she had told 
herself that she had been strong, that she had resisted 
her own passion as well as the ruthless man who loved 
her. She had been innocent, she repeated; and she 
had told her confessor nothing more until she believed 
that she had changed, and that she hated the man she 
had loved so well. Then the priest, who was not worldly 
wise, warned her gently against anything so un-Christian 
as hatred, and counselled her to forget and to grow 


44 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


indifferent and to devote herself to her husband^s happi- 
ness. That sounded very easy to the poor priest. 

After that she had altogether given up asking advice 
of him, and she had let herself be guided by her own 
sense of honour. Besides, the day soon came when 
Montalto accused her; and he would not have believed 
her if she had thrown the whole blame on her lover, for 
she could not lie and say she had never loved him. So 
she had not defended herself, and the great wave had 
gone over her head, and her husband, broken-hearted, 
had left her for ever ; but he had done it in such a way 
that there had been no open scandal. He had gone to 
Spain and had come back again, and had gone away 
again and had stayed longer; he had spoken to his 
friends of his mother’s wretched health; she could not 
live in Italy, and Maria could not live in Spain, and he 
could not be in both places at once. The separation, 
so far as the world saw it, came by degrees, till it was 
permanent. Monltalto and his wife were not the j&rst 
couple that had separated quietly, without quarreUing 
in pubhc, simply because they did not hke each other. 
People did not always know where Maria spent her 
summers with her child, and the good-natured ones used 
to say that she saw her husband then ; and she hved in 
such a way in Rome that the blame was all laid on 
Montalto, and Teresa Crescenzi’s story was believed. 
Montalto was a brute, who had often struck his wife 
when he was in one of his fits of anger, and she was 
little less than a saint. 

Castiglione sat waiting for his answer. Would she 


CHAP. II 


MARIA 


45 


tell him that he might come back and live near her? 
Or would she grow hard and cold once more, and bid 
him go away again, and for ever ? 

After a long time she raised her head and looked at 
him quietly. 

^ I cannot answer you at once,’ she said ; ^ but I promise 
that I will. You said yesterday that you had a fort- 
night’s leave. When I have made up my mind what 
to do I shall let you know, and you must come and see 
me again.’ 

Castiglione shook his head gravely and said 
nothing. 

^What is the matter?’ asked Maria. 

suppose you are going to ask advice of your con- 
fessor,’ he answered very sadly, and not at all in con- 
tempt. 

But Maria lifted her head proudly. 

^No,’ she said, am going to ask myself what is 
right. And in my thoughts my child shall be the man 
I hope to make him, and I will ask him what is honour- 
able.’ 

^Will you not trust me for that?’ Castiglione asked, 
and his face lightened. 

^That I even consent to ask myself shows that I 
trust you more than I did when you surprised me here 
not half an hour ago. And now please leave me, for 
I want to be alone. Perhaps I shall send for you to- 
morrow, or perhaps not for a week. If we chance to 
meet an5rwhere, come and speak to me, for people will 
think it strange if we avoid each other. But I shall 


46 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


ask you to come here for the answer to your 
question/ 

‘Thank you/ he answered gratefully. 

Their hands touched each other for a moment, but 
neither spoke again, and he went quietly out. 


CHAPTER III 


Maria did not send for Castiglione the next day, nor 
djiring a number of days afterwards, and Giuliana 
Parenzo saw that she was very much preoccupied and 
was not looking well. The elder woman was far too 
good a friend to ask questions, and when the two were 
together she did her best to amuse Maria by her talk. 
The Marchesa was not particularly witty, but she some- 
times told a story with httle touches of humour that 
were quite her own. Very good women are rarely 
witty, but they often have a happy faculty of seeing 
the funny side of things. Wit wounds, but humour 
disarms. 

Giuliana saw, too, that Maria did not like to be alone, 
even with Leone. The truth was that she slept little 
and was very nervous. Something had come back 
from the past to haunt her; often a nameless horror 
came near her, not at night only, for it was not the fear 
of an overwrought imagination, but in broad daylight 
too, when she was alone and chanced to be doing nothing. 
It was the more dreadful because she could not define 
it ; she could not say that it was caused by the question 
Castiglione had asked her, and which she had promised 
to answer, but when she thought of that her mind re- 
fused to be reasonable, and the horror came upon her. 


48 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


and she felt that utter ruin was close at hand, lying in 
wait for her. She remembered the sensation well in 
the old days; she had sometimes fancied then that she 
was going mad, and had made great efforts to control 
herself, but she had never thought of asking a doctor 
what it was, for she had beheved, and beheved now, 
that it was a state of mind rather than the mere effect 
of anxiety and mental fatigue on her body. So she 
suffered much, and quite uselessly ; but that was a small 
matter compared with the fact that she had promised 
Castiglione an answer before his fortnight’s leave was 
over, and that after several days she was no nearer to 
finding one than when he had left her. 

Again and again she thought of telling Giuliana all 
her trouble and asking her advice, but she was always 
deterred by an inward conviction that her friend would 
not understand. She was mistaken in this, but she 
could not believe that she was. Giuliana knew some- 
thing, of course; all Rome believed Teresa Crescenzi’s 
story, of which the starting-point was that she had 
loved Baldassare del Castiglione innocently, and it was 
Giuliana who had repeated the tale to her. Maria had 
shaken her head, and had answered that there was not 
much truth in it, but that people might as well believe 
it as invent any other story, since she would never tell 
any one, not even Giuliana, exactly what had happened. 

^It does not concern me only,’ she had said gravely. 

Giuliana had asked no questions, and Maria had been 
sure that there would never be any need of referring to 
her secret again. 


CHAP. Ill 


MARIA 


49 


But now the past had come back to ask a question 
which she could not answer. She had been in earnest 
when she had told Baldassare proudly that she did not 
mean to go to a priest for advice. He disliked all 
priests out of prejudice, as she knew. There might be 
good and bad soldiers, lawyers, writers, artists, or work- 
men, but in his estimation there could be very few good 
priests. Yet it was not to please him that she had said 
she would not go to her confessor ; it was simply because 
she "was quite sure that she could trust her own con- 
science and her own sense of honour to show her the 
right way; and perhaps she might have trusted both 
if her nerves had not failed her at the critical moment 
and left her apparently helpless. She was in great need 
of help and advice, and did not know where to go for 
either. 

Meanwhile she had not met Castiglione again. The 
season was over, and even at its height she did not go 
out much. Society is always dull when one has no 
object in joining in its inane revels — love, ambition, 
stupid vanity, or a daughter to marry — unless, indeed, 
one possesses the temperament of a butterfly combined 
with the intelligence of an oyster. So it had been 
quite natural that Maria should not have met Castiglione 
during those days, and she had not chanced to meet 
him in the street. On his side, he had kept away from 
the part of the city in which she lived, but he had gone 
to every friend^s house and public place where he thought 
there was a possibility of meeting her. 

After a week they met by what seemed an accident 
£ 


50 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART 1 


to them both. Maria was almost ill, and could no longer 
bear her trouble without some help. There was in 
Rome a good priest of her own class — a man in ten 
thousand, a man of heart, a man of courage, a man of 
the highest honour and of the purest life. If she had 
not always disliked the idea of meeting her confessor 
in the world, she would have chosen this man for hers 
long ago. If he had been in Rome in the darkest 
months of her life she would certainly have gone to 
him for advice; but he had then been working as a 
parish priest in a remote and fever-stricken part of the 
Maremma, and it was because his health had broken 
down that he had been obliged to give up his labours 
and come back to Rome. He was now a Canon of 
Saint Peter’s, and was employed as Secretary to the 
Cardinal Vicar, but found time to occupy himself with 
matters nearer to his heart. His name was Monsignor 
Ippolito Saracinesca; he was the second son of Don 
Giovanni, the head of the great family, and he was 
about forty years old. 

To him Maria Montalto determined to go in her 
extremity. She was not quite sure how she should 
tell him her story, but for the sake of what she had said 
to Castiglione she would not put it in the form of a con- 
fession. She would not need to tell so much of it but 
that she could lay it before him as an imaginary case — 
which is a foolish device when it is meant to hide a 
secret, but is useful as a means of communicating one 
that is hard to tell. 

Monsignor Saracinesca was generally at Saint Peter’s 


CHAP. Ill 


MARIA 


51 


at about eleven o’clock, and Maria made sure of finding 
him there by telephoning to the Saracinesca palace, 
in which he had a small apartment of his own. At half- 
past ten she left her house alone, took a cab and drove 
across Rome to the Basilica. She got out at the front 
and went up the steps, for she had never before been to 
see any one in the Sacristy, and was not quite sure of 
what would happen if she went directly to it at the back 
of the church. 

She entered on the right-hand side, by force of habit. 
There is a very heavy wadded leathern curtain there, 
and she had to pull it aside for herself, which was not 
easy. Just as she was doing this, and using all her 
strength, some one pushed the curtain up easily from 
within, and she found herself face to face with Baldas- 
sare del Castiglione, and very near him. She started 
violently, for she was even more nervous than usual. 
He himself was so much surprised that he drew his head 
back quickly; then he bent it silently and stood aside, 
holding up the curtain for her to pass, as if not expect- 
ing that she would stop to speak to him. 

^ Thank you,’ she said, going in. 

She tried to smile a httle, just as much as one might 
with a word of thanks ; but the effort was so great, and 
her face was so pale and disturbed, that it made a pain- 
ful impression on him, and he watched her anxiously 
till she had gone a few steps forward into the church, 
for he was really afraid that she might faint and fall, 
and perhaps hurt herself, and there was no one near 
the door just then to help her. 


52 


A LADY OF ROME 


PAKT I 


But she walked straight enough, and he had just 
begun to lower the heavy curtain, turning his head as 
he passed under it, when he heard her call him sharply. 

^ Balduccio ! ’ 

It was very long since she had called him familiarly 
by his first name, and his heart stood still at the sound 
of her voice. A moment later he was within the church, 
and met her as she was coming back to the door. 

^ You called me?’ 

^Yes.’ 

They turned to the right into the north aisle, and 
walked slowly forwards, side by side. There were not 
many people in the Basihca at that hour, for it was a 
week-day, and the season of the tourists was almost 
over. At some distance before them, two or three 
people were kneeling before the closed gate of the Juhan 
Chapel. Maria and Castiglione were as much alone as 
if they had been in the country, and as free to talk, for 
no conversation, even in an ordinary tone, can be heard 
far in the great cathedral. Nevertheless Maria did not 
speak. 

^You are ill,’ Castighone said, breaking the silence at 
last. ^Let me take you to your carriage.’ 

^No. I came here for a good purpose, and I cannot 
go home without doing what I mean to do.’ 

wish with all my heart that I had not come back 
to Rome to disturb your peace ! It is my fault that you 
are suffering.’ 

‘No. It is not your fault.’ She spoke gently. ‘It 
is a consequence, that’s all. You had a right to ask me 


CHAP, m 


MAEIA 


53 


that question, and you have a right to an answer. But 
I cannot find one. That is what is troubhng me.^ 

^You are kind to me,^ said Castiglione. ‘Too kind,’ 
he added, and she knew by his tone how much he was 
moved. 

She turned in her walk before she answered, for they 
were already near the Juhan Chapel. 

‘No,’ she said after a minute, and she bent her head. 
‘Not too kind — if you knew all.’ 

He looked quickly at her face, but she did not turn 
to him. His heart beat hard and his throat felt sud- 
denly dry. 

‘ Don’t misunderstand me,’ she said, still looking 
steadily down at the pavement. ‘I meant, if you knew 
how much I wish to be just — to myself as well as to 
you, Balduccio.’ 

‘I do not want justice,’ he answered sadly. ‘I ask 
for forgiveness.’ 

‘Yes. I know.’ 

She said no more, and they walked slowly on. At the 
httle gate of Leo the Twelfth’s Chapel she stopped, and 
she took hold of the bars with both hands and looked in, 
leaving room for him to stand beside her. 

‘Justice,’ she cried in a low voice, ‘justice, justice! 
To you, to me, to my husband ! God help us all three ! ’ 

He did not understand, but he felt that a change had 
come over her since he had seen her a week earlier, and 
that it was in his favour rather than against him. 

‘Justice!’ he repeated after her, but in a very dif- 
ferent tone. ‘ It would have been justice if I had put a 


54 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


bullet through my head when I went home that 
night !\ 

Maria's hands left the bars of the gate and grasped 
Castiglione's arm above the elbow’ and shook it a 
little. 

^ Never say that again!' she cried in a stifled voice. 
^ Promise me that you will never think it again ! Prom- 
ise ! ' 

He was amazed at her energy and earnestness, and he 
understood less and less what was passing in her heart. 

H can only promise you that I will never do it,' he 
answered gravely. 

^Yes,' she cried in the same tone, ^promise me that! 
It is what I mean. Give me your sacred word of 
honour ! Take oath to me before the Cross — there — 
do you see?' she pointed with one hand through the 
bars to the Crucifix in the stained window, still holding 
him with the other. ^ Swear solemnly that you will 
never kill yourself, w’hatever happens!’ 

He could well have asked if she loved him still, and 
she could not have denied it then; but he would not, 
for he was in earnest too. He had not meant to trouble 
her life so deeply when he had come to ask her forgive- 
ness; far less had he dreamt that the old love had sur- 
vived all. A great wave of pure devotion to the woman 
he had wronged swept him to her feet. 

It was long since he had knelt in any church; but 
now he was kneeling beside her as she stood, and he was 
looking up to the sacred figure, and his hands were 
joined together. 


CHAP, m 


MARIA 


55 


‘You have my word and promise/ he said in deep 
emotion. ‘Let the God you trust be witness between 
you and me.^ 

He heard a soft soimd, and she was kneeling beside 
him, close to the bars. Then her ungloved hand, cold 
and trembling, went out and rested lightly on his own 
for a moment. 

‘Is it forgiveness?’ he asked, very low. 

‘It is forgiveness,’ she said. 

He pressed his forehead against his folded hands 
that rested upon the bars. Then he understood that 
she was praying, and he rose very quietly and drew 
back a step, as from something he held in great reverence, 
but in which he had no part. 

She did not heed him and remained kneeling a little 
while, a slight and rarely graceful figure in dark grey 
against the rich shadows within the chapel. If any 
one passed near, neither he nor she was aware of it, 
and there was nothing in the attitude of either to excite 
surprise in such a place, except that it is unusual to see 
any one praying just there. 

Maria rose at last, stood a few seconds longer before 
the gate, and then turned to Baldassare. Her face had 
changed since he had last seen it clearly ; it was still 
pale and full of suffering, but there was light in it now. 
She stood beside him and looked at him quietly when 
she spoke. 

‘I have not given you all my answer yet,’ she said. 
‘I will tell you why I came here, because I wish to be 
quite frank in all there is to be between us. I told you 


56 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


the other day that I would not go to my confessor for 
advice. At least, that is what I meant to say. Did I ? ’ 

^Yes. That was what you said.’ 

shall keep my word. But I am going for help to a 
friend who is a priest, because I have broken down. 
I thought I could trust my own conscience and my own 
sense of honour; I thought I could fancy my boy a 
man, and in imagination ask him what his mother should 
do. But I cannot. I am very tired, and my thoughts 
are all confused and blurred. Do you understand?’ 

^Yes,’ said Castiglione; but in spite of himself his 
face betrayed his displeasure at the thought that an 
ecclesiastic should come between them. 

am going to see a priest whom I trust as a man,’ 
she went on. am going to Monsignor Saracinesca.’ 

^Don Ippolito?’ Castiglione’s brow cleared, and he 
almost smiled. 

^Yes. Do you know him?’ 

know him well. You could not go to a better 

man.’ 

am glad to hear you say that. I may not follow 
his advice, after all, but I am sure he will help me to 
find myself again.’ 

‘ Perhaps.’ Castiglione spoke thoughtfully, not doubt- 
fully. Then his face hardened, but not unkindly, and 
the manly features set themselves in a look of brave 
resolution. ^Before you go let me say something,’ he 
went on, after the short pause. ^You have given me 
more to-day than I ever hoped to have from you, Maria. 
I will ask nothing else, since the mere thought of seeing 


CHAP. Ill 


MARIA 


57 


me often has troubled you so much. I will leave 
Rome to-day, and I will not come back — never, unless 
you send for me. Put all the rest out of your mind and 
be yourself again, and remember only that you have 
forgiven me the worst deed of my life. I can live on 
that till the end. Good-bye. God bless you!’ 

She had been looking down, but now she raised her 
eyes to his, and there were tears in them that did not 
overflow. He held out his hand, but she would not 
take it. 

^ Thank you,’ she said. ^You are brave and kind, 
but I will not have it so. I may ask you to go away 
when your leave is over, but not to stay always, and 
after a time we shall meet again. Before going you 
must come and see me. I will write you a line to-night 
or to-morrow. Good-bye now, but only for to-day.’ 

She smiled faintly, bent her head a httle, and turned 
from him to cross the nave on her way to the Sacristy. 
He stood by the pillar and watched her, sure that she 
would not look back. She moved hghtly, but not 
fast, over the vast pavement. When she was opposite 
the Julian Chapel, which is the Chapel of the Sacra- 
ment, she turned towards it and bent her knee, but 
she rose again instantly and went on till she disappeared 
behind the great pilaster of the dome, at the corner of 
the south transept. 

Then Castiglione went slowly and thoughtfully away, 
happier than he had been for a long time. 

But Maria went on, and glanced at her watch, and 
hastened her steps. She left the church and traversed 


58 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


the long marble corridors, where all kinds of people 
come and go on all sorts of business whenever the 
Basilica is open. In the great central hall of the Sacristy, 
which is as big as an ordinary church, she asked the 
first acolyte she met for Monsignor Saracinesca. 

He was close at hand, in the Chapter-House. ^ Would 
the lady give her revered name?^ ^The Countess of 
Montalto.’ The young man in the violet cassock bowed 
low. ^ Monsignor Saracinesca would certainly see her 
Excellency.’ ‘Her Excellency’ thanked the young 
man and stood aside to wait, out of the way of the 
many canons and other ecclesiastics, and choirmen, 
and singing boys, and other acolytes who were all 
moving hither and thither as if they were very busy 
about doing nothing in a hurry. In less than half a 
minute Ippohto Saracinesca joined her. 

The churchman was a man of forty or near that, 
but was already very grey, and thin almost to emacia- 
tion. He had the wan complexion of those who have 
hved long in feverish parts of Italy, and there were 
many lines of suffering in his refined features, which 
seemed to be modelled in wax. In his youth he had 
been said to be hke his mother’s mother, and a resem- 
blance to her portrait was still traceable, especially in 
his clear brown eyes. The chief characteristics of the 
man’s physical nature were an unconquerable and 
devoted energy that could defy sickness and pain, and 
a very markedly ascetic temperament. Spiritually, 
what was strongest in him was a charity that was 
active, unselfish, wise and just, and that was, above 


CHAP, in 


MARIA 


59 


all, of that sort which inspires hope in those whom it 
helps, and helps all whom it finds in need. 

It was said in the precincts of the Vatican that Mon- 
signor Saracinesca was likely to be made a cardinal at 
an early age. But the poor people in the Maremma 
said he was a saint who would not long be allowed to 
suffer earthly ills, and whose soul was probably already 
in paradise while his body was left to do good in this 
world till it should wear itself out and melt away like a 
shadow. 

Ippolito Saracinesca had known only one great 
temptation in his life. Unlike most people who accom- 
plish much in this world, he was a good musician, and 
was often tempted to bestow upon a perfectly selfish 
pleasure some of that precious time which he truly 
believed had been given him only that he might use it 
for others. More than once he had bound himself not 
to touch an instrument nor go to a concert for a whole 
month, because he felt that the gift was absorbing him 
too much. 

This was the friend to whom Maria Montalto had 
come for advice and help, and of whom Castigli- 
one had said that she could not have chosen a better 
man. 

^ There is no one in the Chapter-House,^ he said, after 
the first friendly greeting. ^Will you come in and sit 
down? I was trying to decide about the placing of 
another picture which we have discovered amongst our 
possessions.^ 

He led the way and Maria followed, and sat down 


60 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART 1 


beside the table on one of the big chairs which were 
symmetrically ranged against the walls. 

^Please tell me how I can serve you/ said Don 
Ippohto. 

^It is not easy to tell you/ Maria answered. am 
in great perplexity and I need advice — the advice of 
a good man — of a friend — of some one who knows 
the world. ^ 

^Yes/ said Monsignor Saracinesca, folding his trans- 
parent hands and looking at one of Melozzo da Forli^s 
inspired angels on the opposite wall. ^So far as you 
care to trust me as a friend and one who knows some- 
thing of the world, I will do my best. But let us under- 
stand each other before you say anything more. This 
is not in any way a confession, I suppose. You wish 
to ask my advice in confidence. Is that it?^ 

^Yes, yes! That is what it is!^ 

‘And you come to me as to a friend, rather than as 
to a priest?’ 

‘Oh, yes! Much more.’ 

‘And you trust me, merely as you would trust a 
friend, and without the intention of putting me under 
a sacred obhgation of silence, by which the life and wel- 
fare of any one might hereafter be endangered. Is 
that what you mean?’ 

‘Yes, distinctly. But that will never happen. I 
mean that no one’s fife could ever be in danger by your 
not telling. At least, I cannot see how.’ 

‘Strange things happen,’ said Don Ippofito, still 
looking at the angel. ‘And now that we understand 


CHAP, m 


MAKIA 


61 


each other about that, I am ready. What is the dif- 
ficulty?^ 

Maria rested her elbow on the corner of the big table 
and shaded her eyes with her hand for a moment. It 
was not easy to tell such a story as hers. 

‘Do you know anything about my past life?^ she 
began timidly, and glancing sideways at him. 

He turned his brown eyes full to hers. 

‘Yes,^ he said, without hesitation. ‘I do know 
something, and more than a httle.^ 

She was surprised, and looked at him with an ex- 
pression of inquiry. 

‘I have always known your husband very well,^ he 
said. ‘He wrote to me for advice when there was 
trouble between you. I was in the Maremma then.’ 

‘And it was you who advised him to leave me ! Ah, 
I did not know !’ 

Maria drew back a little proudly, expecting him to 
admit the imputation. 

‘No,’ answered Don Ippohto. ‘I did not, but he 
thought it wiser not to take the advice I gave him.’ 

Maria’s expression changed again. 

‘ Do you know who was — who — was the cause of 
his going away?’ 

‘Yes. I am afraid every one knows that. It was 
Baldassare del Castighone, and he is in Rome again.’ 

‘Yes,’ Maria rephed, repeating his words, ‘he is in 
Rome again.’ 

He thought he had made it easy for her to say more, 
if she wished to tell aU, but she was silent. He had 


62 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


heard Montalto’s story from beginning to end, and upon 
that he judged her, of course, as she had allowed her- 
self to be judged by her husband, without the least 
suggestion of defence. After all, how could either of 
the two men judge her otherwise? How could she tell 
now what she had once called the truth? How near 
the truth was it? She would put her question as best 
she could. 

^My excuse is that we loved each other very, very 
much,’ she said in a low and timid voice. Ht was long 
before I married,’ she added, a httle more firmly, for 
she was not ashamed of that. ^But we parted’ — her 
voice sank to a whisper — ^ we parted when it was too 
late. And we have never met, nor ever written one 
word to each other since.’ 

As she pronounced the last sentence she raised her 
head again, for she knew what that separation had cost, 
in spite of all — in spite of what she had called the 
truth. 

^That was right,’ Don Ippohto said. 'That was your 
duty; but it was brave of you both to do it.’ 

She felt encouraged. 

'And now he is in Rome again,’ she went on. 'He 
has come on leave for a few days. He came on pur- 
pose to ask my forgiveness, after all these years, because 
there was something to forgive — at least — he thought 
there was ’ 

She broke off, quite unable to go on. 

'You were very young,’ suggested Don Ippolito, 
helping her. 'You had no experience of the world. 


CHAP, m 


MARIA 


63 


Such a man would have a very great advantage over a 
very young woman who had been attached to him 
when a girl and was unhappily married/ 

But Maria had clasped her hands desperately tight 
together before her on the edge of the table, and she 
bent down now and pressed her forehead upon them. 
She spoke in broken words. 

^No, no ! I know it now ! It was not — not what I 
thought — oh, I can’t tell you ! I can’t, I can’t ! ’ 

She was breaking down, for she was worn-out and 
fearfully overwrought. Then Monsignor Saracinesca 
spoke quietly, but in a tone of absolute authority. 

^Tell me nothing more,’ he said. ^This is not a con- 
fession, and I cannot allow you to go on. Try to get 
control of yourself so that you may go home quietly.’ 

He rose as he spoke, but she stretched her hand out 
across the table to stop him. 

^No — please don’t go away! I have said I forgive 
him — if there is anything to forgive — may I say 
that he is to come back? May I see him sometimes? 
We are so sure of ourselves, he and I, after aU these 
years ’ 

Monsignor Saracinesca’s brows bent vdth a little 
severity. 

^Montalto is living,’ he said, ^and he is a broken- 
hearted man. Since you and he parted you have 
borne his name as honourably as you could, you have 
done what was in your power to atone for your fault 
by not seeing your lover. I am frank, you see. Mont- 
alto knows how you have hved and is not unjust nor 


64 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


ungrateful. But for his mother, I think a reconcilia- 
tion would be possible.^ 

Maria started at the words, and tiu*ned even paler 
than before. 

reconciliation!’ she cried in a low and frightened 

voice. 

^Yes,’ answered Don Ippolito, who had resumed his 
seat. ^He loves you still. It is my firm behef that he 
has never bestowed a thought on any other woman 
since he first wished to marry you. I know beyond all 
doubt that since he left you he has led a hfe such as few 
men of the world ever lead. No doubt he has his de- 
fects, as a man of the world. I daresay he is not one 
of those men with whom it is easy to hve, and he is a 
melancholy and depressing person. But so far as the 
rest is concerned ’ 

He stopped, feehng that he was perhaps defending 
his friend too warmly. Maria had bent her head again, 
and sat with her hands lying dejectedly on her knees. 

^You know more,’ she said sadly. ^He has written 
you that he is coming back!’ 

^No. I only think it possible. But if he did, could 
you refuse to hve under his roof? Has he wronged 
you?’ 

^He meant to be just! But if he should come back 
— oh, no, no, no ! For God’s sake, not that ! ’ 

She bent her head lower still, and spoke scarcely 
above a whisper. 

^Remember that he has the right, that it lies with 
him to forgive, not with you. If he should do that. 


CHAP. Ill 


MARIA 


65 


and should come, would you not be glad to feel that 
after all you had done your best? That so far as you 
could help it you had not seen your lover, nor encour- 
aged him, nor given him the slightest cause to think 
you would? You could at least receive your hus- 
band’s forgiveness with a clear conscience. At least 
you could say that you had not failed again ! ’ 

Don Ippolito waited a moment, but Maria could not 
speak, or had no answer ready for him. He went on, 
quietly and kindly. • 

^But if you allow Castiglione to come back and live 
here, and to see you, even rarely, it will all be different. 
Think only of what the world will say; and what the 
world says will be repeated to your husband. You 
have broken his heart, and all but ruined his life; re- 
member that he loves you as much as your lover ever 
did; think what he has felt, what he has suffered! 
And then consider, too, that if anything has softened 
the bitterness of his pain, it has been the faultless life 
you have led since. Before God it is enough to do right, 
but before the world it is not. Men do not accept the 
truth unless it is outwardly proved to them. That is 
a part of the social contract by which our outward 
lives are bound. Allow Castiglione to come to Rome, 
to be seen with you and at your house, even now and 
then, and the world will have no mercy. It will say 
that you are tired of your loneliness, and have taken him 
back to be to you what he was. Then people will laugh 
at Teresa Crescenzi’s clever story instead of believing 
it. You came to me as to a friend, and as what you call 

F 


66 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART r 


a man of the world, and I give you what I think will be 
the world’s view. Am I right, or not ? ’ 

There was a long pause. Then Maria tried to meet 
the good man’s earnest eyes, but her own wandered to 
one of the angels on the wall. 

^You are right,’ she said in-a low voice. ^Yes, you 
are right. I see it now.’ 

Her gaze was fixed upon the lovely frescoed head, 
with its glory of golden hair and its look of heavenly 
innocence. But she did not see it; she was thinking 
that if she did right she must tell Castiglione never to 
come back, and that the aching, lonely life that had 
seemed once more so full for a brief space was to begin 
again to-morrow, and was to last until she died. And 
she was thinking that her husband might come back. 

Monsignor Saracinesca waited quietly after she had 
spoken, for since she admitted the truth of what he 
m-ged he felt that there was nothing more to say. After 
a little while Maria collected her strength for the effort 
and rose from her seat, still resting one hand on the 
great table. 

^ Thank you,’ she said. ^You have been very kind. 
All you have told me is true. I shall try to follow 
your advice.’ 

H hope you will,’ answered the Churchman. ^You 
will not find it so hard as you think.’ 

She smiled faintly, as gentle people do sometimes 
when they are in great pain and well-disposed persons 
tell them that suffering is all a matter of imagination. 

^ Oh, no ! ’ she answered. ^ I shall find it very, very hard.’ 


CHAP, in 


MARIA 


67 


The grey-haired man sighed and smiled at her so 
sadly and kindly that she felt herself drawn to hiTn 
even more than before. She was standing close to 
him now, and looked up trustfully to his spiritual face 
and deeply thoughtful eyes. 

did not know I loved him so much till he came 
back,’ she said simply. ^How could I? I did not 
guess that I had forgiven him long ago!’ 

^ Poor child I God help you ! ’ 

need help.’ She was silent for a moment, and then 
looked down. ‘Do you write to my husband?’ she 
asked timidly. 

‘Sometimes. I have httle time for writing letters. 
Should you hke to send him any message?’ 

‘ Oh, no I ’ she cried in a startled tone. ‘ But oh, if 
you write to him, don’t urge him to come back ! Don’t 
make him think it is his duty. It cannot be his duty 
to make any one so unhappy as I should be ! ’ 

‘I shall not give him any advice whatever unless he 
asks for it,’ replied Don Ippohto, ‘and if he does, I 
shall answer that I think he should write to you directly, 
for I would rather not try to act as his adviser. I told 
you that he did not take my advice the first time.’ 

‘Yes — but — you have been so kind! Would you 
tell me what you wished him to do then?’ 

The priest thought a moment. 

‘I cannot tell you that,’ he said presently. 

Maria looked surprised, and shrank back a little, sus- 
pecting that he had suggested some course which might 
have offended or hurt her. He understood intuitively. 


68 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART 1 


‘It would be a betrayal of confidence to Montalto/ 
he added, ‘ to tell you what I advised him, and what he 
did not do. But I still think it would have been better 
for both of you if he had done it.^ 

Maria looked puzzled. 

‘I am sorry, ^ he said, in a tone from which there was 
no appeal, ‘but I cannot tell you.’ 

She looked at him a little hardly at first; then she 
remembered what every one in Rome knew, that the 
delicate, shadow-like man with the clear brown eyes 
had risked being tried for murder when he was a young 
priest rather than betray a confession which had been 
anything but formal. Her tired face softened as she 
thought of that. 

‘I am sorry I asked you,’ she said. ‘I did not mean 
to be inquisitive.’ 

‘It was natural that you should ask the question,’ 
he answered, ‘ but it would not have been quite honour- 
able in me to answer it.’ 

‘I trust you all the more because you refused me,’ 
she said. ‘And now I must be going, for I have kept 
you a long time.’ 

‘Scarcely a quarter of an hour.’ He smiled as he 
glanced at the hideous modern clock on the table. 

She left him after thanking him and pressing his thin, 
kindly hand, and she made her way back to the church, 
feehng a little faint. 

When she was gone Monsignor Saracinesca returned 
to the question of the picture which was to be hung, 
but for a while he could not give it all the attention 


CHAP, m 


MAEIA 


that a beautiful Hans Memling deserved. He was 
thinking of what he had said to Maria, and not only 
of that, but of what he had said to Baldassare del 
Castiglione a quarter of an hour earlier. 

For that was the coincidence which had brought 
the two together that morning at the door of the church. 
Castiglione had taken it into his head to see Don Ippolito 
on the same day; hke Maria, he had telephoned to the 
palace and had learned that his old acquaintance was 
usually to be found in the Sacristy about eleven; being 
a soldier, he had gone pimctually at the hour, whereas 
Maria had not arrived till fifteen or twenty minutes 
later, and it was therefore almost a certainty that they 
should meet. 

It had not been easy for Don Ippolito, taken by sur- 
prise as he was. But Castiglione had put his case as 
one man of honour may to another, and had told as 
much of the truth as he might without casting the 
least slur on Maria’s good name. He had loved her 
before her marriage, he had said; he loved her stilL 
After she had been married he had left her no peace, 
and Montalto had made him the reason for leaving her. 
She had bidden him, CastigHone, to go away and never 
see her again. He had so far obeyed as to stay away 
several yea?,.. He had come back at last to ask her 
forgiveness; he was not sure of obtaining it — he had 
not yet met her in the church — but he came to Don 
Ippolito as a friend. His love for Maria was great, he 
said, but even if she forgave him, he would never see 
her again rather than be the cause of any further trouble 


70 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


or anxiety to her. What did Don Ippolito think? 
Don Ippolito considered the matter for a few minutes, 
and then said that in his opinion any renewal of friendly 
intercourse between Castiglione and the Countess 
would surely bring trouble and would inevitably cause 
her anxiety. If Castiglione loved her in the way he 
believed he did, he would think more of her welfare than 
of the pleasure he would have in seeing her. If he was 
sure that his thoughts of her were what he represented 
them to be, he could write to her, and she might write 
to him if she thought fit. The prelate refused to say 
more than that, but the opinion was delivered in such 
manly and direct words that Castiglione was much 
unpressed by it; and when, in the church, he had gen- 
erously offered to leave Rome at once, because he saw 
in Maria’s face all the trouble and anxiety he feared 
for her, he had spoken with Ippolito Saracinesca’s 
honourable words still ringing in his ears. It was no 
wonder if he told Maria that she could not have chosen 
a better man of whom to ask help and advice; and 
though he knew what that advice would be, and felt 
sorrowfully sure that she would try to follow it, he 
almost smiled at the coincidence as he watched her 
cross the nave in the direction of the Sacristy. 

And now, when she came back into the Basilica, she 
retraced her steps towards the tomb of Leo Twelfth. 
Again she stopped a moment and almost knelt as she 
passed before the Julian Chapel and went on to the 
north aisle; but when the small gate before which she 
had knelt with Castiglione was in sight she paused in 


CHAP, ra 


MARIA 


71 


the shadow of the pillar and leant against the marble, 
as if she were very tired. 

Till then she had not dared to ask herself what she 
meant to do, but when she saw the place where she had 
so lately touched Castiglione’s hand in forgiveness of 
the past, the truth rushed back upon her, as the winter's 
tide turns from the ebb to storm upon the beaten shore. 

It was upon her, and she felt that it would sweep her 
from her feet and drown her ; and it was not the imaged 
truth she had taught herself to believe those many 
years. She gazed at the closed gate, and she knew 
why she had forgiven her lover at last. It was because 
she wished to forgive herself, and she had found it easy, 
shamefully easy. The hour of evil came back to her 
memory with frightful vividness, and now her pale 
cheek burned with shame and she pressed it hard against 
the icy marble; and she forced her eyes to stay wide 
open, lest if she shut them for an instant, she should see 
what she remembered so horribly well. 

She would not go to the gate again, now; the words 
she had said there had been false and untrue, the prayer 
she had breathed there had been a blasphemy and 
nothing else. For years and years she had hved in the 
mortal sin of those brief moments; unconfessing and 
unpardoned of God, she had gone to Communion month 
after month, telhng herself that she was an innocent, 
suffering woman, doing her best to atone for another’s 
crime ; yet she had always felt in the dark hiding-places 
of her heart the knowledge that it was all untrue, that 
she had been less sinned against than herself sinning. 


72 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


and that if she would die in the faith in which she had 
been brought up, and in the hope of life hereafter, she 
must some day humble herself and her pride to the 
earth, and ask of God and man the pardon she had 
granted just now as if it were hers to give. 

It was too much; it was more than she could bear. 
In her anger and hatred of herself she found strength 
to turn from the pillar and to go on straight and quickly 
to the door. Two or three soldiers who had wandered 
in were just leaving the Basilica ; they lifted the heavy 
curtain for her and she thanked them mechanically 
and passed out, holding her head high. 


CHAPTER IV 


Maria hardly knew how she had come home. She 
had no distinct recollection of having taken a cab, nor 
of having driven through the city, nor of having paid 
a cabman when she reached the Via San Martino. 
There are times when unconscious cerebration is quite 
enough for the ordinary needs of life. Maria neither 
fainted nor behaved in any unusual way during the 
half-hour that elapsed between her leaving the pillar 
against which she had leant in the church and the 
moment when she entered her own room. Even then 
she hardly knew that she gave her maid her hat and 
gloves and smoothed her hair before she went to her 
sitting-room to be alone. 

But when she was there, in her favourite seat with 
her little table full of books beside her, her footstool at 
her feet and her head resting at last against a small 
silk cushion on the back of the chair — then the one 
thought that had taken possession of her pronounced 
itself aloud in the quiet room. 

have been a very wicked woman.^ 

That was all, and she said it aloud only once ; but the 
words went on repeating themselves again and again in 
her brain, while she leaned back and stared steadily at 
the blank of the tinted ceiling ; and for a time she turned 
73 


74 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


her head wearily from side to side on the cushion, as 
people do who have little hope, and fear that the very 
worst is close at hand. 

For many years she had sustained a part which her 
pride had invented to quiet her conscience. If it were 
not so, if she had really been the outraged victim of a 
moment's madness, knowing herself quite innocent, 
why had she not gone to her husband, as an honest 
woman should, to ask for protection and to demand 
justice? Because she loved Castighone still, perhaps; 
because she was willing to sacrifice everything rather 
than accuse him; because she would rather be dis- 
honoured in her husband's eyes than see her lover dis- 
graced before the world. But that was not true; that 
was impossible. If Baldassare del Castighone had been 
the wretch she had the courage to tell him he was when 
she bade him leave her for ever, Maria Montalto would 
not have hesitated an instant. He should have gone 
where justice sends such men, and she would have asked 
her husband to let her end her days out of the sight of 
the world she had known. 

Her memory brought back the words she had spoken 
to Castighone long ago under the ilex-trees in the Villa 
Borghese. She remembered the intonations of her 
own voice, she remembered how she had quivered with 
pain and anger while she spoke, how she had turned 
and left him there, leaning against a tree, very pale; 
for she had made him believe all she said, and that was 
the worst a woman can say. She had called him a 
coward and a brute, the basest of mankind ; and he had 


CHAP. IV 


MARIA 


75 


obeyed her, and had left Rome that night because she 
had made him believe her. 

But later, many months later, when Montalto solemnly 
accused her of having betrayed him, she had bent her 
head, and not one word of self-defence had risen to her 
hps; so her husband had turned away and left her, as 
she had turned and left her lover. He had been under 
the same roof with her after that, at more and more 
distant intervals till he had left Rome altogether; but 
never again, when they had been alone together, had 
he spoken one word to her except for necessity. Yet 
he had loved her then, and he loved her still; she had 
seen in his face that he was broken-hearted, and Mon- 
signor Saracinesca had told her now that the deep hurt 
would not heal. She had played her comedy of inno- 
cence to her lover and to herself, but she had not dared 
to play it to her husband, lest some act of frightful 
injustice should be done to Baldassare del Castiglione. 

She had forgiven Balduccio ! She laughed at the 
thought now in bitter self-contempt. Her soul and her 
conscience had met face to face in the storm, and the 
expiation had begun. She must confess her fault to 
God and man, but first to man, first to that man to 
whom it would be most hard to tell the truth because 
she had been the most unjust to him, to Castighone 
himself. 

That was to be the answer to his question. There 
was no doubt now; he must go away. She could not 
allow him to exchange again into another regiment, in 
order that he might hve near her for a time, nor could 


76 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


she let him leave the service altogether, to pass an idle 
life in Rome. Every word that Don Ippohto had 
spoken was unanswerable, and there was much more 
that he had not said. She might not be able to trust 
herself after all; after reconciliation, friendship would 
come, cool, smiling and self-satisfied, but behind friend- 
ship there was a love that neither could hide long, and 
beyond love there was human passion, strong and wake- 
ful, with burning eyes and restless hands, waiting till 
the devil opportunity should come suddenly and spread 
his dusky wings as a tent and a shelter for sin. Maria 
was still brave enough to fear that, and something told 
her that fear of herself must be the first step on which 
to rise above herself. 

She left her seat at last and sat down at a table to 
write to Castiglione ; but when she tried to word a note 
it was not easy. It would not be wise, either, for such 
words as she wished to send him are better not written 
down. Maria realised this before she had penned three 
lines, and she tore the bit of paper to shreds at once. 
Baldassare was stopping with cousins, and a note might 
fall into light-fingered hands. 

She rang the bell and told Agostino to telephone to 
the Conte del Castiglione saying that she would be glad 
to see him the next day at half-past two, if he could 
come then. In a few moments the servant brought 
back the answer. The Conte had been at the telephone 
himself and would do himself the honour of calling on 
the Signora Contessa on the morrow at half-past two. 

The formal reply was so like his messages of old days 


CHAP. IV 


MARIA 


77 


that it sent a little thrill through her. Often and often 
he had come at that quiet hour, when Montalto.was 
always out of the way, and each time he had found 
some new way of telling her that he loved her ; and she, 
in turn, had listened and had laughingly scolded him, 
telling him that she had grown from a silly girl into a 
grave Roman matron, and would have no more of his 
boyish love-making; and, moreover, that if he was 
always going to make love to her she would refuse to 
receive him the very next time he tried to see her at the 
hour when she was alone. And yet she listened to his 
voice, and he saw her lip quiver sometimes and her soft 
pallor grow warmer; and always, when he sent a mes- 
sage asking to see her at half-past two, the answer had 
been that she would probably be at home, and that he 
might try if he liked ; and when he came, she was there, 
and alone, and ready to laugh, and scold, and hsten, 
expecting no danger and not wittingly thinking any 
evil. 

So his message to-day startled her senses, as a little 
accidental pressure on the scar of an old wound some- 
times sends a wave of the forgotten pain through the 
injured nerve. It was like a warning. 

When she was alone she sat down in the deep chair 
again and leaned back. It was wrong to be so glad that 
she was to see him the next day, but she could not help 
it; and besides, it was to be the last time for so long, 
perhaps for ever. Surely, after all that she had suf- 
fered, she might allow herself that little joy before the 
unending separation began ! 


78 


A LADY OF ROME 


PAKT I 


She was already far from the bitter self-reproach of a 
few minutes ago, and the mere thought of his coming 
had wrought the change. Was it not in order to be 
just to him at last that she had sent for him? Might 
there not be a legitimate moral satisfaction in humbling 
herself before him, and in the thought that she was 
about to hft a heavy burden from his heart ? Moreover, 
to be for ever gloomily pondering on her past fault, 
now that she had acknowledged it and was sorry for it, 
would surely be morbid. 

As for the rehgious side of the matter, she would 
make her peace with heaven at once. She would put 
on a brown veil and go to the Capuchin church that 
very afternoon and confess all to Padre Bonaventura, 
of whom she had so often heard, but who would never 
know who she was. He would impose some grave and 
wearisome penance, no doubt; Capuchin monks are 
notably more severe in that respect than other con- 
fessors. He would perhaps bid her read the seven 
penitential psalms seven times, which would be a long 
affair. But he could not refuse her absolution since 
she was really so sorry ; and the next morning she would 
get up early and go to the little oratory near by and 
receive the Communion in the spirit of truth at last; 
and when Castiglione came at half-past two she would 
have grace and strength to tell what she had to tell, 
and to bid him good-bye, even for ever. If she did all 
this she would earn the right to that one last httle joy 
of meeting. 

She was not a saint yet ; she was not even heroic, and 


CHAP. IV 


MARIA 


79 


perhaps what she took for a guiding ray of light was any- 
thing but that ; perhaps it was little better than a will- 
o’-the-wisp that would lead her into far more dangerous 
ground than she had traversed yet. But after her 
resolution was made she felt lighter and happier, and 
better able to face the world than she had felt during 
that long week since Castiglione had come back. 

Then Leone came in, straight and sturdy and bright- 
eyed; and he marched across the room to where she sat 
and threw his arms around her, as he sometimes did. 
And though he was but a small boy, she felt how strong 
he was when he squeezed her to him with all his might 
and kissed her, first on one cheek and then on the 
other; and in spite of herself she closed her eyes for a 
second and drew one short, breath as she kissed him too. 
He was very quick to see and notice everything. 

^Did I hurt you, mama?’ he asked almost anxiously. 

^No, dear!’ She smiled. 'You are not strong 
enough to hurt me yet, darling.’ 

He drew back half a step and surveyed his mother 
critically, with his head a little on one side. 

'I wouldn’t, of course,’ he said condescendingly. 
'But if I twisted your arm and hammered it with my 
fist I could hurt you. I did it to Mario Campodonico, 
and he’s nine, and he howled.’ 

'Naughty boy!’ Maria could not help laughing. 
^Why did you hurt poor Mario?’ 

'Poor Mario!’ cried Leone scornfully. 'He’s twice 
my size, and he’s learning to ride. Why shouldn’t I 
hammer him if I can? He tried to take away a roast 


80 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


chestnut I was eating. It was in the Villa Borghese 
only yesterday. He won’t do it again, though! He 
howled.’ 

Thereupon Leone faced about, marched to the win- 
dow, and climbed upon his favourite chair to look for 
soldiers in the street. He got up with three quick 
movements, as if he were going through a gymnastic 
exercise. He set one knee and both hands on the seat, 
then put the second knee up and both hands on the 
top of the chair, then he straightened his back and was 
in position. Maria watched him, and her eyes settled 
on the back of his solid httle neck that showed above 
the broad sailor’s collar, and on the short and thick 
brown hair that was so curly just at that place. 

But presently she turned away and mechanically 
took a book from the low table beside her. Don Ippolito 
had said that Montalto might offer her a reconciliation 
she did not deserve, and might come back to take her 
and Leone to live in the palace again. The thought 
chilled her and frightened her, for she could guess at 
his expression when he should first see what she had 
seen every hour of the day for years. Yet any father 
might be proud of such a child — any father 1 Could 
such a Yeconcihation ’ be lasting? 

That afternoon she took Leone with her and drove 
out by Porta Furba to the ruins which the people call 
Roma Vecchia. They drove across the great meadow, 
and when they could drive no farther they got out and 
walked, and climbed up till they could sit on one of the 
big fragments of masonry and look towards the west 


CHAP. IV 


MARIA 


81 


Leone had been rather silent, for with the exception of 
an occasional couple of mounted carabineers on patrol 
they had hardly met any soldiers at all. And now they 
sat side by side in the sunshine, for there was a cool 
breeze blowing from the sea and the air was not warm yet. 

Leone took no interest in any pastimes earlier than 
the age of armour and tournaments; and Maria was 
glad that he did not ask her questions about the ruins, 
for she could not have answered him. She knew nothing 
about the Quintilii and very little about Commodus. 
She only knew that the great pile was commonly called 
the ‘Old Rome,’ and that she loved it for its grand 
loneliness. But Leone looked about him, and thought 
it was a good place for a castle. Next to soldiers he 
loved castles and forts. 

‘If this belonged to me, I’d build a fortress here,’ he 
observed gravely, after a long silence. ‘I’d build a 
great castle like Bracciano.' He had been taken 
there on a children’s picnic during the winter. ‘But 
I’d have lots of guns and a regiment of artillery here 
if it were mine,’ he added. 

‘What for?’ asked Maria, amused. 

‘To defend Rome, of course,’ answered Leone. 

‘But no one is coming to take Rome, child,’ objected 
his mother. 

‘Oh, yes, they may!’ He seemed quite confident. 
‘If there are no other enemies, there are always the 
French and the priests!’ 

At this astounding view of Italy’s situation Maria 
could not help laughing. 


82 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


‘We are good friends with the French now/ she said. 
‘And who has been telhng you that the priests are the 
enemies of Italy?’ 

‘Gianluca Trasmondo says so/ answered Leone. ‘He 
knows, for his uncle is a cardinal. Besides, no priests 
are soldiers, are they? So they wouldn’t defend Italy. 
So they’re Italy’s enemies.’ 

‘You are wrong, darhng,’ answered Maria. ‘The 
priests have all had to do their mihtary service first.’ 

‘What? And wear uniforms, and go to drill, and 
smoke Toscano cigars?’ 

‘I’m not sure about the smoking,’ laughed Maria; 
‘but they have to serve their time in the army, just hke 
other men.’ 

‘Of course you know,’ said the small boy, who had 
perfect confidence in his mother’s facts. ‘I didn’t. 
I’ll tell Gianluca to-morrow. All the same, this would 
be a good place for a castle. I wonder whose the fields 
are.’ 

‘I don’t know, dear. You may run down to the 
carriage and ask Telemaco if you like, and then come 
back and tell me. He knows all about the Campagna.’ 

Telemaco was Maria’s coachman, who had followed 
her when she had left the Montalto palace — a grey- 
haired, placid, corpulent man of great weight and over- 
powering respectability. 

Leone jumped up and ran away at a steady trot, 
with his elbows well in, his fists close to his chest, and 
his head back, as he had seen soldiers run in drilling. 
Maria was left alone for a few minutes, for the carriage 


CHAP. IV 


MARIA 


83 


was on the other side of the ruins and two hundred 
yards away. She leaned on one elbow and looked 
westward at the distant broken aqueduct, far away 
under the sun. She was thinking of what she should 
say to the old monk in the Capuchin church later in the 
afternoon, and the moments passed quickly. Before 
she had determined upon the opening sentence, the 
boy came trotting back to her up the little hill. He 
stopped just before her, his legs apart and his face 
beaming with pleasure. 

^Well,^ he said, ^what do you think? Shall I build 
a castle here or not?’ 

H think not,’ answered his mother, smUing. 

^ But I think I shall when I am big. It all belongs to 
me !’ 

Maria opened her eyes in surprise. 

^To you, child? What do you mean?’ 

H asked Telemaco whose this land was. He said, 
^Ht belongs to your most excellent house.” I said just 
what you said — ^^What do you mean?” He said, 
^Ht is as I say, Signorino, for the land here belongs to his 
Excellency your papa, and if you see one of the mounted 
watchmen in blue about here, he will have the arms of 
your house on his badge.” That was what Telemaco 
said. So you see, when I am big I shall build a castle 
here. Why do you look sorry, mama ? ’ 

H’m not sorry, darling,’ Maria answered with a faint 
smile. H was thinking of the time when you will be 
grown up.’ 

Leone reflected a little. 


84 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


^But why should you look sorry for that, mama? 
You won’t go away and leave me when I’m grown up, 
will you, to go and live with papa in Spain ? ’ 

^No, dear. I shall certainly not do that.’ 

Another pause, longer than the first, during which 
the small boy watched her face keenly, and she shrank 
a little before the fearless blue eyes. 

^ Why does papa never come back to see us ?’ he asked. 

She had expected the question a long time, and had 
made up her mind how to meet it when it came ; yet she 
was taken by surprise. 

^Your father’s mother is a great invalid,’ she said, 
with a httle nervous hesitation. ^He does not like to 
leave her.’ 

^He might come here for a day sometimes,’ answered 
Leone, not at all satisfied. ^He doesn’t like us. That’s 
the reason. I know it is. He doesn’t want us to five 
in the palace. That’s why we live where we do.’ 

^Hush! You must not say that, my dear. The 
palace is very gloomy, and I chose to live in a more 
cheerful part of the city.’ 

H hke it better, too,’ said the boy in a tone of reflec- 
tion. ^But all other people live in their own palaces, 
all the same.’ 

^Most of our friends are many in a family, dear. 
But we are only you aiid I.’ 

A silence, during which the child’s brain was weigh- 
ing these matters in the balance. 

'I’m glad papa never comes back,’ he said at last. 
'You are, too.’ 


CHAP. IV 


MARIA 


85 


Without waiting for an answer, and as if to give vent 
to his feelings, he turned away, picked up a small stone, 
and threw it as far as he could over the green grass 
below the ruins — presumably at an imaginary enemy 
of Italy. He watched it as it fell, and did not seem 
satisfied with his performance. 

^ I suppose David was bigger than I am when he killed 
the giant with a pebble,’ he observed rather wistfully. 

They drove home. 

^Why didn’t you know that the land out there be- 
longs to us, mama?’ asked Leone, after a long silence, 
when they were near the Porta San Giovanni. 

H know very little about the property, except that 
it is large and some of it is in the Campagna.’ 

^ Why not ? ’ 

^ Because no one ever told me about it,’ Maria replied, 
feehng that she must find an answer. The boy looked 
at her gravely, but not incredulously, and asked nothing 


more. 


CHAPTER V 


The sun was sinking when Maria descended the long 
flight of steps from the door of the Capuchin church to 
the level of the street, and under the grey veil she wore 
her cheeks were wet with undried tears. But she held 
her head up proudly, and her small feet stepped firmly 
and hghtly on the stones. 

She was not in a state of grace by any means, and the 
tears had not been shed in repentance for her sins. 
She hardly ever cried, and when she did it was generally 
from anger and bitter disappointment. The moisture 
that had risen in her eyes that morning when Castigflone 
had offered to go away for her sake had not overflowed ; 
but now, when she had left the confessional without the 
expected absolution, and had seen the hard-faced old 
monk in brown come out of his box and stalk stiffly 
away to the sacristy as if he had done something very 
virtuous, she had sat down in a chair in a corner of the 
empty church and the burning drops had streamed over 
her cheeks hke fire till they reached the small hand- 
kerchief she held to her mouth under her veil; and she 
had bitten hard at the hem, and it was salt with her 
tears. 

She had been misunderstood, she had been misjudged, 
she had been rebuked. She had been told that she was 
86 


CHAP. V 


MARIA 


87 


a very great sinner; that so long as she was willing to 
love a man who was not her husband, and who had been 
her lover, God would not forgive her; that absolution 
came from God and not from priests, and that it was out 
of any priest's power to pronounce it while she was 
in her present state of mind ; that she might come again 
when she was sure that she wished never to think of 
that evil man ; that if she felt that she owed him repara- 
tion for having been unjust to him she should write to 
him to say so, asking him to destroy the letter, and 
bidding him never to come near her again; and that to 
see him again, even once, since she still loved him, 
w^ould be not only a deadly risk but actually a mortal 
sin. After this she had been sternly told to go away, 
to pray for grace, and to be particularly careful to ob- 
serve days of abstinence and fasting, as the devil was 
everywhere and never slept. 

Now the monk who had heard her confession was a 
good man and meant well, and beheved that he was 
speaking for the good of her soul. He knew well enough 
from the penitent's language and manner of speaking 
about her life that she was a lady of Rome, and perhaps 
one of the great ones who sometimes came to him be- 
cause they did not Hke to go to their regular confessors. 
But this, in his estimation, was the best of reasons why 
Maria should be treated with the same severity as the 
poorest and most ignorant woman of the people., If 
she had come to him with a religious doubt or a scruple 
concerning dogma he would have treated her very 
differently, for he was something of a theologian and 


88 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART 1 


had a monk’s love of controversy. But she came to 
him simply as a woman, with a perfectly evident mortal 
sin on her conscience, and what he considered a per- 
fectly evident desire to compromise things by pretend- 
ing that her lover could be her friend. In such matters 
he was a ruthless democrat, as many confessors are. 
She might be a great lady, she might have been royal, 
for all he cared; what was just to one woman’s soul and 
conscience was just to another woman’s, all the world 
over, and where the deadly sins were concerned there 
was not to be any distinction between the poor and the 
rich, the educated and the ignorant. On the contrary, 
educated people should get less mercy, because they 
ought to know better than their inferiors, and because 
they had been brought up in surroundings where the 
baser sins of humanity are supposed to be less common ; 
and finally and generally, because we are told that the 
salvation of the rich is to be regarded as a much more 
difficult matter than that of the poor. It was certainly 
not the business of a Capuchin monk to reverse matters 
and make it easier. 

But the deficately nurtured, sorely tried woman who 
had come to unburden her conscience of a sin she had 
only fully understood within the last few days, felt as 
if the well-meaning monk had thrust out his bony hand 
from the shadow of the confessional and had dehberately 
slapped her cheek. 

Therefore Maria Montalto was not in a state of grace, 
and in her mortification she called the austere and 
democratic Capuchin several hard names; she said to 


CHAP. V 


MARIA 


89 


herself that he was ignorant, that he was a common 
person, and that it was a scandal that such a prejudiced 
man should be a licensed confessor. She bit her hand- 
kerchief hard, tasting the salt of her tears in the hem 
of it, because she knew in her heart that there was a 
little truth in some of the hard things she had been told. 

Her pride and nervous energy came to the rescue 
after a while, and she left the church to walk home 
through quiet streets where no one was likely to meet 
her. The evening breeze would dry her face under her 
veil, and her anger would help the drying process too, 
for it kept her cheeks hot. That morning she had felt 
very ill and tired and had vaguely expected to break 
down, but the afternoon in the Campagna had done her 
good, and her temper did the rest. Castiglione would 
find her looking wonderfully well when he came the next 
day at half -past two. 

The sun had set, but it was still broad daylight when 
she reached the top of the Via San Basilio. She turned 
to the right presently, and almost ran into Teresa 
Crescenzi, who was walking very fast and also wore a 
veil, but was always an unmistakable figure anywhere. 

‘Maria!’ cried the lively lady at once. ‘Wherein 
the world are you going alone on foot at this hour?’ 

‘I have been to confession and I’m going home,’ 
answered Maria without hesitation, and smiling at the 
other’s quickness in asking a question which might 
certainly have been asked of her with equal reason. 

‘So have I,’ answered Teresa with alacrity. ‘What 
a coincidence ! ’ 


90 


A LADY OF ROME 


PABT 1 


But she had not been to confession. 

^ Good-bye, dear ! ^ she added almost at once, and with 
a quick and friendly nod she went on down the hill. 

Teresa had not gone far when she turned into a de- 
serted side street and saw Baldassare del Castiglione 
walking at a leisurely pace a httle way in front of her. 
A much less ready gossip than she might well have 
thought it probable that he and Maria Montalto had 
just parted, after taking a harmless little walk together 
m a very quiet part of the town. 

It was certainly Castiglione whom she saw. There 
was no mistaking his square shoulders and back of his 
strong neck, where the closely cropped brown hair had 
an incorrigible tendency to be curly. Teresa had often 
noticed that, for she admired him and wished that he 
were a more eligible husband; but she was not very 
rich, and he was distinctly poor. She often saw him 
in the summer, and it had not occurred to her till his 
return to Rome that he would refuse her if she suggested 
that he might marry her. That was the way she put 
it, for a lack of practical directness was not among her 
defects. She had supposed that he had really quite 
forgotten Maria by this time, although her pretty tale 
about them was founded on the undying and perfectly 
innocent affection of both. 

Now before she overtook Castiglione, as she inevitably 
must if he did not mend his pace, she hesitated whether 
she should turn back quietly and take another street. 
For she had not been to confession. Then it seemed 
to her that it would be dangerous to avoid him, for he 


CHAP. V 


MAEIA 


91 


was walking slowly, as if he himself were only keeping 
out of the way in the side street for a while, and might 
turn back at any moment; and if he did, he would 
recognise her. So she decided to overtake him and ask 
him to walk with her till they could find a closed cab, 
which was what she wanted. 

Having reached this decision a further consideration 
presented itself to her mind. He would hardly believe 
that she could be coming up behind him without having 
met Maria, who had certainly been with him and whom 
she had just left. He would not hke to feel that this 
had happened, and that she might even have seen 
them together. It would be more tactful to be frank. 

She spoke as soon as she was close to him. 

^ Good evening, Balduccio,’ she said pleasantly. ^ Will 
you help me to find a closed cab ? ’ 

He took off his hat without showing any surprise, 
and smiled as if not at all disturbed by the meeting. 
But then, thought Teresa, he always had good nerves 
and was a man of the world. 

^We can get one at the Piazza Barberini,^ he said, 
lengthening his stride to keep up with her, for he saw 
that she was in a hurry. 

' Can we ? I feel one of my chills coming on, and I 
must either run to keep warm or get a closed carriage 
somewhere. Do you mind walking fast?' 

^Not at all.' 

^Because you were walking very slowly when I saw 
you.' 

^Was I?' He seemed very vague about it. 


92 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


^Yes!^ she laughed. ^Dear old Balduccio! You 
are just the same reserved, formal silly old thing you 
were when we went to the dancing-class at Campo- 
donico’s, ever so long ago ! ^ 

^Am I?^ 

^Yes. But as I just happened to meet Maria, you 
need not pretend to be vague. You know how frank 
I am, so I’m sure you would rather be sure at once that 
I know, and that I will not tell any one ! ’ 

^Dear friend,’ returned Castiglione blandly, ^what 
in the world are you talking about?’ 

Again Teresa laughed gaily. 

^Always the same! But as I met Maria Montalto 
only a moment ago, it’s not of the slightest, use to tell 
me that you two have not been for a httle walk together ! 
Do you think I blame you ? Haven’t you behaved hke 
a couple of saints for more years than I like to remem- 
ber? No one can find any fault with you, of course, 
but for Heaven’s sake walk in the Corso, or in the Via 
Nazionale, where every one can see you, instead of in 
such a place as this ! ’ 

^But I have not met the Countess at all,’ answered 
Castiglione with some annoyance, when she paused at 
last to take breath. 

^Oh! Oh! Oh I’ she cried, shaking her finger at him. 
Ht’s very wrong to tell fibs to an old friend who only 
wishes to help you!’ 

^ You may think what you please,’ he answered bluntly. 
H have not met the Countess this afternoon. I have 
been to see a sculptor who has his studio in this street.’ 


chap. V MARIA 93 

^Oh, yes!^ cried Teresa incredulously. ^And Maria 
told me she had been to confession.^ 

‘If she said so, it is true. If we had met we should 
have stopped to speak. We might have walked a httle 
way together. But we have not met.' 

Teresa Crescenzi did not believe him. She had 
managed to get rid of her veil while walking, and with- 
out being noticed by him. Women can do such things 
easily when a man is very much preoccupied about 
other matters. 

‘As you like,’ she answered, and her tone was any- 
thing but complimentary to his truthfulness. 

But he did not take up the question after having 
once told her the truth, and when he opened the door 
of the cab they found in the Piazza Barberini there was 
a distinct coolness in their leave-taking. He gave the 
cabman her address and went away on foot down the 
crowded Tritone towards the city. When he had 
walked a quarter of an hour he looked at his watch, 
stopped a pohceman, and asked for the nearest pubhc 
telephone office. 

He called for Maria Montalto’s number and was 
answered by Agostino, the butler. He inquired whether 
the Countess would speak with him herself, and pres- 
ently he heard her voice. 

‘I am Castiglione,’ he said. ‘Is it true that Teresa 
Crescenzi met you in the Via di San Basilio when you 
were walking home from confession half an hour ago?’ 

‘Yes — but how ’ 

He interrupted her at once. 


94 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


am in a public office, shut up in the box, but be 
careful what you say unless you are alone. I met 
Teresa a moment after she had spoken to you, and she 
pretended to know that we had been together in one 
of those quiet streets.^ 

‘ How abominable ! ^ 

‘I had been to see Farini, the sculptor, close by San 
Nicolo. It was natmal that Teresa should suppose we had 
met, but I was angry, and so was she because I denied 
what she said. I’m afraid she will repeat the story.’ 

^ Why should I care ?’ Maria’s voice was rather sharp. 

H care, on your account, so I have warned you.’ 

^ Thank you. You will come to-morrow?’ 

^To-morrow, at half-past two, if you will receive me. 
Good-bye.’ 

^You shall have the answer then. Good-bye.’ 

Maria went back to Leone, who was having his supper. 
The child was unusually silent, and ate with the steady, 
solemn appetite of strong boys. When he had finished 
he got up and gravely examined his armomy before 
going to bed, to see that his weapons were all clean and 
neatly hung in their places. There were two toy guns, 
with a tin revolver, a sword-bayonet, and a sabre. He 
went through this inspection every evening, and Maria 
sat by the table watching him while Agostino took 
away the things. 

When the servant was gone the boy came and stood 
beside his mother’s knee and looked up into her face 
earnestly. 

H’m sorry,’ he said, after a long time. 


CHAP. V 


MARIA 


95 


^For what, dear?^ 

^ You’ve been crying because I asked questions about 
papa. I’m sorry.’ 

She leant forward and took him in her arms quietly, 
and made him sit astride of her knees and look into her 
eyes while she held him by the wrists. 

^Little man,’ she said gently, ^if you ever say any- 
thing that hurts me I promise to tell you just what it is, 
because I know you will never mean to hurt me, even 
when you are grown up. It was nothing you said that 
made me cry this afternoon, so there’s nothing for you 
to be sorry for — ’ she smiled and shook her head — 
^nothing, darling, nothing, nothing!’ 

Leone smiled too. 

^I’m glad,’ he said, and then his face grew grave and 
thoughtful again. 

Maria wondered what was going on in his small head 
during the next few seconds. When he spoke at last 
she started. 

^Then it was the priest?’ he said with conviction. 
^I hate him.’ 

^What do you mean, child?’ 

^ After we came home you put on the grey veil and 
went out alone. That is always confession, isn’t it? 
When you came home you put up the veil and kissed 
me. Your cheeks were just a little wet still. So it 
was the priest, wasn’t it, who made you cry?’ 

Maria would not deny the truth. 

‘It was something the confessor said to me,’ she 
answered. 


96 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


told you so!’ returned the small boy. hate 
him !’ 

He was well aware that if he stayed another moment 
where he was his mother would tell him that it was very 
wrong to hate anybody, so he struggled out of her hold, 
slipped from her knees to the floor, knelt down and 
began to say his small evening prayer with such amaz- 
ing alacrity that Maria’s breath was taken away and 
she could not get in a word of rebuke; in spite of her- 
self she smiled over his bent head and felt very irrever- 
ently inclined to laugh at his mancnuvre. But before 
he had finished her face was very grave, and when he 
got up from his knees she spoke to him before she 
kissed his forehead. 

^Listen to me, my boy,’ she said. ^You know that 
I always tell you the truth, don’t you?’ 

^Yes,’ answered Leone. ^So do I. It’s cowardly 
to tell lies. Mario Campodonico is a coward, and he 
lies like anything.’ 

^ Never mind Mario. I don’t want you to say that 
you hate priests.’ 

Ht’s the truth,’ retorted the terrible child. ^ Shall I 
say I love them?’ 

^No. Listen to me. There are good people and 
bad people all over the world. So there are good and 
bad priests, but I think there are many more good ones 
than bad ones. You would not hate a good priest, 
would you ? ’ 

— no,’ answered Leone, rather doubtfully. 

‘Then leave the bad ones to take care of themselves, 


CHAP. V 


MARIA 


97 


and don’t think about them. Do you suppose I hate 
you when you are naughty and break things in a rage 
and try to beat the servants? It’s the naughtiness I 
hate. It’s not you.’ 

^It feels just the same/ observed the small boy, with 
great logic. 

^But it’s not,’ answered his mother, trying to keep 
from laughing. ^And when you are bigger you will 
understand that one should not hate bad men, but the 
badness in them.’ 

^Well, that’s better than nothing! Then I hate the 
badness in your priest, who made you cry, and I’d like 
to hammer it out of him ! ’ 

Maria was at the end of her arguments. 

^He meant well,’ she said weakly. ^I’m sure he 
meant well.’ 

^ When he made you cry ? ’ retorted Leone indignantly. 
^ You might just as well say I mean well when ’ 

But at this point Maria closed the discussion abruptly 
by picking him up with a laugh and a kiss and carrying 
him off to bed. It was as much as she could do now, 
for he was very sturdy and heavy for his age. 


CHAPTER VI 


V^HEN Castiglione came on the following afternoon 
Maria was looking wonderfully well, and so like herself, 
as she had been within the first year of her marriage, 
that he could not help looking at her very hard. There 
was only the small patch of white in her dark hair near 
the left temple, which Castiglione could not remember; 
and there was the black frock. She always wore black 
or grey now, but when she was very young she had hked 
pretty colours. 

Castiglione himself was in imiform, for he thought it 
possible that he might see Leone, and he would not 
have broken his promise to the boy for anything. He 
was not the man to put on his uniform with the idea 
of looking better in it than in a civilian’s clothes, still 
less had he any thought of recalling old memories to 
Maria by such theatrical means. Men who are hard 
hitters are rarely theatrical in small things, though 
some famous generals, like Napoleon, have been great 
dramatic artists. 

In Italy the uniforms of the cavalry regiments do not 
differ as much as in some other countries, and but for 
the colour of the facings and a few smaller details 
Castiglione’s dress was enough like the uniform of the 
Piedmont Lancers to produce a much deeper impression 
98 


CHAP. VI 


MARIA 


99 


on Maria than he could have easily understood. The 
man himself had changed httle. He was a httle broader 
perhaps, his strong features were a Httle more marked, 
his military moustache was heavier, but that was all. 
At thirty, or nearly that, he was much the same active, 
energetic, good-looking young officer he had been at 
two and twenty. 

They instinctively took the places they had sat in 
during his first visit. The hour was the same, the fight 
in the room was the same, too ; but other things were 
not the same. Castigfione felt it as soon as he saw 
Maria’s face, and she knew it when she heard the sound 
of his voice. The ice-wall that had stood between them 
so long had melted away; the chasm that separated 
Maria even from that barrier was bridged. It would not 
be easy now to touch hands and part again for years. 

The stern old monk’s words echoed faintly in Maria’s 
heart : to meet thus was a deadly risk, perhaps a mortal 
sin. But the voice was far away, and Maria was very 
happy and hopeful, and the old Capuchin had been a 
common and ignorant man who could not understand 
the pride and self-respect of a Roman lady, nor the 
generous honour of such a man as Baldassare del Cas- 
tigfione. 

‘1 was right to telephone last night, was I not?’ he 
asked when they were seated. 

^Yes, quite right. But Teresa has always seemed to 
be a good friend. She may have been annoyed because 
she had made such a stupid mistake, but I really don’t 
think she will gossip about us.’ 


100 


A LADY OF KOME 


PART I 


‘1 hope not, though I don’t trust her.’ 

After this there was a little silence, for he would not 
make conversation ; and while he waited for Maria to 
speak, his eyes were satisfied, and his heart beat quietly 
and happily because he was near her. He did not feel 
the heavy, passionate pulse that used to throb in his 
neck when he came near her, nor the dryness in his 
throat, with the strange, cool quivering of his own lips. 
He was simply and quietly happy, and he trusted him- 
self and her. 

^ You have come for your answer,’ she said, a,fter a long 
time. ' It’s of no use to pretend that we have anything 
else to talk of. We will be honest with each other. 
There is no one to hear what we say, and we have nothing 
to say now of which we need be ashamed before God.’ 

Castiglione silently bent his head in assent and waited. 

^The forgiveness you asked of me yesterday, I should 
have asked of you, too,’ Maria went on, but her eyes 
looked down. ‘ I ask it now, before I say anything more.’ 

H don’t understand,’ answered the man. ^How can 
I have anything to forgive ? ’ 

^Balduccio, do you remember the hard words I said 
to you under the ilex-trees when we parted?’ 

condemned man does not forget the words of his 
sentence.’ His voice was dull. 

H called you a coward and a brute, Balduccio, and I 
called you the basest of mankind.’ 

‘It was your right.’ 

‘No. It was not. I take back those words. I ask 
your pardon for them.’ 


CHAP. VI 


MAKIA 


101 


^What?^ His voice rang in the room, hoarse and 
strong. 

'I take back every word. I was the coward. I 
made myself beheve what I said, and I knew you would 
beheve it too. I have been a very wicked woman all 
these years, Balduccio. I have been wickedly unjust 
to you. You must try to forgive me.’ 

Her voice had sunk very low, for it had been hard to 
say; but his almost broke in his throat. 

‘Try? Ah, Maria ’ 

He move'd quickly to come near her, and she was 
aware of it. Still looking down, she stretched out her 
hand against him. 

‘Sit still!’ she said. ‘Say that you forgive me, if 
you can.’ 

‘With all my soul,’ he answered, drawing back into 
his chair, obedient to her gesture. 

‘Thank you,’ she said, so low that he could hardly 
hear her. 

With that she leaned far back in her low chair and 
pressed her fingers upon her eyes without covering her 
face, and he saw the warmth come and go in her soft 
pale cheeks, and then come back again. Indeed, it had 
not been easy for her. Presently she opened her eyes, 
and folded her hands on her lap, and gazed happily into 
his face. 

‘I can look at you now,’ she said simply, ‘and it is 
not wrong.’ 

‘No, indeed !’ 

But he did not know what he was saying, nor what 


102 


A LADY OF ROME 


PAKT I 


he should say, for in a moment she had changed all the 
greater thoughts of his Hfe. She had taken from him 
the burden of the old accusation which she had made 
him believe was just in spite of himself ; but it was like 
lifting heavy weights from a balance very suddenly; 
the whole mechanism of his mind and conscience 
quivered and trembled when the strain was gone, and 
swung violently this way and that. 

Presently she was speaking again, and he began to 
hear and understand. 

am not going to pretend anything,^ she was saying. 
^But I will not hide anything either. No, I will not ! 
There is nothing to be ashamed of now, because we have 
made up our minds that there never shall be 
again. We promise each other that, don’t we, 
Balduccio ? ’ 

'I promise you that, come what may,’ he answered, 
well knowing what he said now. 

^And I promise the same, come what may,’ she said. 

give you my word of honour.’ 

^You have mine, Maria.’ 

^That is enough, and God believes us,’ she said gravely. 
'But now the truth, and nothing else. We are not 
going to pretend that we are like brother and sister. 
We love each other dearly, and we love as man and 
woman, and I am sure we always shall, now and for 
ever, in life, and beyond death, and in the hfe to come. 
I am very sure of that.’ 

He bent his head and nodded slowly, but that was 
not enough for her. 


CHAP. VI 


MARIA 


103 


^Are you not sure, Balduccio?’ she asked after a 
moment. 

He looked up suddenly with blazing eyes. 

H love you now,^ he said. ‘1 have loved you all my 
life. That is what I know. If there is a God, He knows 
it, for He made it so, and it will be so for ever. If not, 
it will end when we are both dead, but not before.^ 

Ht will never end,’ Maria answered. ^But it must 
not be a weight to drag us down, it must be a strength 
to hft us. It shall be ! Say that it shall be ! ’ 

H will do what I can.’ 

'Baiduccio,’ she went on earnestly, Gt has lifted us 
already. It has made you live a better hfe than other 
men, though you do not believe in God. And though 
it made me a coward for a long time, it has given me 
strength to be brave at last, now that we have met 
again, strength to tell you the truth, strength to ask 
your forgiveness ! If it has done all that already, what 
will it not do hereafter, if we keep our promise ? ’ 

The deep and fearless light was in her dark eyes now, 
and she spoke in a heavenly inspiration of purity and 
peace. Castiglione watched her with a sort of awe 
which he had never felt in his life. That was a brave, 
high instinct in him that answered her call; it was the 
instinct that would have responded if he had been 
chosen to lead the forlorn hope in a fight all but 
lost. 

^You are a saint,’ he said. H am not. But I will 
try to follow if you will only lead the way.’ 

^No, dear, I am no saint,’ she answered. 


104 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART 1 


He started at the loving word she had scarcely ever 
used with him, and she saw his movement and under- 
stood. 

'Why not?’ she asked. 'It is the truth, and we are 
not the less safe for saying that we love, now that we 
have promised. No, I am not a saint. You have been 
better than I in all these years, for I have been unjust 
to you, but you have borne it patiently and you have 
loved me still. That is what I mean when I say that 
our love can lift us up. Do you see ? Only — we must 
not forget the others ’ 

She paused. 

'Montalto,’ said Castiglione gravely. 'I understand.’ 

'My husband and my son,’ Maria said. 'We owe 
them a terrible debt.’ 

Castiglione’s eyes softened. 

'It is for their sakes that we have promised,’ she 
went on. 'For their sakes there must never again be 
any earthly taint upon our love, dear.’ 

Once more the tender word touched him. He passed 
his hand over his eyes as if to hide something. 

'If you were only free!’ he sighed. 

Maria made a httle movement. 

'The very thought of that is wrong,’ she answered 
bravely. 'You must not think of it, you must never 
say it.’ 

'I wish your husband no ill,’ Castiglione answered, 
in a sterner tone than she had heard yet. 'I did him 
a great injury. I would make reparation if I knew 
how. But I am a man, Maria, a man like any other. 


CHAP. VI 


MARIA 


105 


and I love you in a man’s way, and if Montalto died I 
should want you for my wife, as you should be. We 
have promised that between us there shall be no word 
or thought of which we need be ashamed, even before 
your husband, if he were here; but more than that I 
will not promise, and that is already as much as any 
man could keep.’ 

Maria shook her head gravely and waited a moment 
before she answered. 

should owe myself to his memory if he were dead,’ 
she said at last. ‘A hfetime of faithfulness, cost what 
it may, is not enough to expiate what I did.’ 

Castiglione judged her as men judge the women they 
love, and he knew that for the present it was useless 
to oppose her. He folded his hands and listened, and 
she did not see that his fingers strained upon each other ; 
nor could she guess that his heart was not beating as 
quietly now as when he had sat down opposite her a 
little while ago. 

^That is the one condition on which we can see each 
other,’ she went on. ^ There must be no thought of any 
earthly union — ever ! If you feel that you are strong 
enough for that, Balduccio, then come back to Rome 
as soon as you can. If you can exchange into your old 
regiment again, do so. If not, come now and then, 
when you can get leave. We may see each other once 
a week, at least once a week ! The world cannot blame 
us for that, after all these years. It will be little enough, 
once a week ! And sometimes, perhaps, we might meet 
in some gallery, in some quiet museum where only the 


106 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


foreigners go, and we could walk about and talk, and 
the world will never know it.’ 

Castiglione smiled at her innocent ignorance of 
lovers’ tricks, for he was quieter now, and very happy 
at the thought of seeing her often. It would never 
have occurred to him to do the foohsh thing of which 
Teresa Crescenzi had suspected him on the previous 
afternoon. 

‘The great matter is that I am to see you,’ he said; 
‘ that the separation is over, and that we love each other ! ’ 

‘ That — yes ! Oh, that above and beyond all things, 
and for ever and ever.’ 

The lovelight was in her eyes as she gazed at him, 
and her parted hps were delicately beautiful. Again 
his hands pressed one another very hard, and he felt that 
he set his teeth. He suddenly wondered how long he 
could keep his promise, and by what manner of death 
he would choose to end his hfe when he felt that he was 
going to break it. She was putting upon him a heavier 
trial and a far harder expiation than she knew. Her 
eyes were so dark and tender, her parted lips were so 
sweet to see ! In her reliance on herself and him she 
had already loosened the great restraint that had bound 
her since the evil hour; she cared not to hide the out- 
ward looks of love. She even longed to see in his eyes 
what she felt in her own. 

‘You love me less than I love you, dear,’ she said 
softly. ‘You are less happy than I am, because we 
are to meet often ! ’ 

Without a word Castiglione rose from his seat and 


CHAP, n 


MARIA 


107 


went to the window at the further end of the room, 
and stood there, looking down through the shts of the 
blinds. Maria half understood, and sighed. 

^ Forgive me,’ she said, rather sorrowfully. 

^I’m only a man, Maria,’ he answered, turning his 
head. ‘ You must not make it too hard for me. I love you 
in a man’s way, and you have made me promise to love you 
in yours. I must learn, before I can be sure of myself.’ 

Maria reflected a moment. Her thoughts were full 
of an ideal sacrifice. 

^ Balduccio ! ’ She called to him gently, for he was 
looking down at the street again. ^ Shall I give you 
back your word and tell you to go away for a long time, 
if it’s going to be so hard for you?’ 

‘No!’ 

The single syllable was rough and strong, for he re- 
sented what she had said. She rose too and went to 
him at the window. 

‘Are you angry with me?’ she asked humbly. 

His hand grasped her bare wrist and tightened upon 
it almost as if he meant to hurt her, and he spoke in 
short, harsh sentences. 

‘No, I am not angry. I love you too much. You 
don’t understand what I feel. How should you ? I’ve 
been as faithful to you as you’ve been to your husband 
all these years. And now I’m with you, and we are 
alone, and we love each other, and I’m nothing but a 
man after all — and if you look at me in the old way I 
shall go mad or kill you.’ 

He drew her wrist roughly to him and kissed her 


108 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


hand once, roughly, and dropped it. He had done that 
in the old days too, and Maria saw it all again in a vio- 
lent flash, as men see danger ahead in a storm at night, 
lit up by quivering lightning. 

She drew breath sharply and turned away from him. 
She leaned upon the mantelpiece and rested her throb- 
bing forehead upon her hands. 

^Oh, why have we these earthly bodies of ours?’ she 
moaned. ^Why? why? Why could not God have 
made us like the angels?’ 

^ Why not, indeed ! ’ echoed Castiglione, in bitter un- 
belief. 

^Even like the fallen angels!’ she cried desperately. 
^They fell by pride, but not by this! Are there not 
temptations for heart and soul and mind enough to try 
us, to raise us up if we overcome, to damn us if we yield ? 
Enough to send us to hell or heaven — without this? 
0 God, that what Thou hast made in Thine own image 
should be so vile, so vile, so vile ! ’ 

Her despair was real; her cry came from an almost 
breaking heart. Castiglione came to her now and laid 
his hand gently upon her shoulder. 

^ Maria! Look at me, dear! Don’t be afraid!’ 

She raised her head timidly from her hands and 
turned her eyes slowly to him, more than half afraid. 
But when she saw that his own were calm and grave 
again, she gave one little cry of relief and buried her 
face upon his shoulder, clinging to him with both hands ; 
and her touch did not stir his pulse now. 

^No, I’m not afraid of you!’ she softly cried. Ht 


CHAP, VI 


MARIA 


109 


was only a moment, dear, only one dreadful moment, 
for I trust you with myself as I would trust you with 
my soul! Sometimes — ’ she looked up lovingly to 
his face — ^ sometimes each of us must be brave for 
both, you know. As we are now, you might even kiss 
me once and I should fear nothing!’ 

He smiled and bent down and kissed her cheek; and 
there was no thought in him that he woulfl not have 
told her. But then he gently took her handg from his 
shoulder and made her sit down as they had sat before. 

^That was not wrong, was it?’ she asked, with a 
happy smile. 

^No,’ he answered quietly, Hhere was no wrong in 
that, neither to you nor to the others.’ 

H’m glad,’ she answered, ^so glad! But it would 
not be right to do it often.’ 

^No, not often. Not for a long time again.’ 

They were both silent in the ebbing of the tide which 
at the full had nearly swept them from their feet. At 
heart, in spite of all, there was something strangely 
innocent in them both. Castiglione’s friends would 
have wondered much if they could have understood him, 
as some of the graver sort might. Few men of his age, 
beyond the cloister, knew less of women’s ways and 
women’s love than he; few soldiers, indeed, and surely 
not one of his brother officers. To wear the King’s 
uniform ten years in the gayest and smartest cavalry 
regiment of the service is not a school for austere virtue 
or innocence of heart. All that Castiglione’s comrades 
noticed was that he talked but little of women, who 


no 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


were often the chief subject of the others’ conversation, 
and that he was very reticent about the ones he knew. 
They respected him for that, on the whole, though they 
sometimes chaffed him a little in a friendly way. They 
all agreed among themselves that he had some secret 
and lasting attachment for a woman of their own class 
whose name he succeeded in keeping from them in spite 
of their repeated attempts to find it out. He was such 
a manly man that they liked him the better for it ; the 
more, because great reticence was not their own chief 
quality. For the rest, though he was poorer than most 
of them, he was always ready to join in anything except 
a general raid on womankind. He played cards with 
them, and when he could lose no more, he said so; he 
was honest in matters of horseflesh and gave sound 
advice ; he never shirked his duty and left it for another 
to do ; he was good-natured in doing a comrade’s work 
when he was asked to do it for any good reason; he 
was the best rider in the regiment, and he never talked 
about what he had done, or could do, with a horse ; he 
was not over clever, but he was good company and 
told a story with a touch of humour; and he never 
•borrowed from a brother officer, nor refused to lend, if 
he had any money. Altogether, he was the best com- 
rade in the world and everybody liked and respected 
him, from the rather supercilious colonel, who was an 
authentic duke, and the crabbed old major, who had 
been wounded at Dogali, to the rawest recruit that was 
drafted in from a Sardinian village or a shepherd’s hut 
in the Apennines. 


CHAP. VI 


MARIA 


111 


But none of all those who hked and respected him 
guessed that in the arts of love he was considerably 
behind the youngest subaltern in the regiment, at least, 
so far as his own experience was concerned, for he could 
have written volumes about that of the rest as described 
by themselves. As a cadet, indeed, he had not been a 
model of austerity ; but he had fallen in love with Maria 
a few days after he had received his commission, and 
such as he had been then he had remained ever since, 
except for her. If his colonel had known this, he would 
have smiled sarcastically and would have said that 
Castiglione was a case of arrested development, the old 
major would have stared at him stupidly without in 
the least comprehending that such a man could exist, 
and the rest of the mess would have roared with laughter 
and called him a crazy sentimentahst. But none of 
them knew the truth, and he had lived his life in his 
own way. There are not many men in the great world 
like Baldassare del Castiglione, but there are a few; 
and in the little world, in simple countries, there are 
more of them than the great world ever dreams of. 

This long digression, if it be one, is to explain why 
Castiglione accepted Maria’s strangely exalted plan for 
the future of both, instead of telling her quite frankly 
that the chances in favour of its success were too small 
for poor humanity to count upon, and that the best 
way was to part again and to meet very rarely or not 
at all, until the fire of life should be extinguished in the 
grey years, and they could look at each other without 
seeing so much as a spark of it left in each other’s tired 


112 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


eyes. That is what he would have done, as a man of 
honour, if he had known as many other women of his 
own class intimately as some of his comrades did. Or, 
if he had been like them in other things too, and had 
loved Maria less truly, he would have sat down to 
besiege the fortress he had once stormed, and would 
have gone to work scientifically to demolish its de- 
fences, making pretence of accepting the trusting 
woman’s generous offer in order to outwit and conquer 
her by slow degrees. And if he had done either the 
one or the other, that is to say, if he had understood 
women’s ways, this would either have been the story of 
a vulgar fault, or it would have ended abruptly with 
Castiglione’s departure. 

It is neither. Baldassare was innocent enough as 
well as honourable enough to believe that he and Maria 
could keep the promise they had made; and he loved 
her so dearly that the prospect of seeing her often was 
like a vision of heaven already half reahsed. 

So on that day they began the new fife together, 
trusting that they could five it faithfully to the end, 
but truly resolved to part again for ever if real danger 
came near them. 

They believed in themselves and in each other. 
Maria had faith in a higher power from which she was 
to receive strength; Castighone had little or nothing 
of this, but he said to himself plainly that if he broke 
his word he would die for it on the same day, and he 
loved mere life enough to think the forfeit a heavy one. 

They counted upon themselves and upon each other. 


CHAP. VI 


MARIA 


113 


There was nothing to suggest that quite external cir- 
cumstances might influence their lives to make the 
task easier or more difficult than they anticipated. 
Most certainly neither beheved that there could be 
moments ahead which would be harder to bear than 
those through which they had already lived. 

When Castiglione went away that afternoon they 
had agreed that he should come again on the next day 
but one, and once again before he went back to Milan, 
and that he should at once take steps to exchange into 
the Piedmont Lancers, if possible, as his old regiment 
was likely to remain in Rome fully eighteen months 
longer. 


18 


\ 

CHAPTER VII 


If Giuliana Parenzo had been one of those nervous, 
sensitive women who are always thinking about them- 
selves and fancying that their friends are on the point 
of betraying them, she would have noticed a little 
change in Maria’s manner after Castiglione’s visit to 
Rome. It was not that Maria was at all less fond of 
her than before, or less affectionate, or apparently less 
glad to see her. It was much more subtle than that. 
There is a great difference between a hungry man and a 
man who merely has an appetite. The one must have 
food, the other is only pleased to have it. Giuhana’s 
friendship had long been a necessity to Maria, but it 
now sank to the condition of being merely an added 
satisfaction in her hfe. Formerly she would not have 
given it up for anything else ; but now, if she could have 
been forced to choose between Castighone and Giuliana, 
she would have given up her friend. 

The Marchesa, however, was not a sensitive or ner- 
vous woman, and she noticed nothing of the change that 
had taken place. She was therefore very much sur- 
prised when her husband spoke to her about Maria. 
It was late in the afternoon, some days after Castiglione 
had gone back to Milan, and Parenzo had come home 
tired from the Foreign Office and was smoking in his 

114 


CHAP. VII 


MARIA 


115 


wife’s dressing-room, which was his favourite resort at 
that hour. Like many busy women, Giuliana had her 
writing-table there, in order to be safe from interrup- 
tion, and she was occupied with some notes which had 
to be finished before dinner, while her husband sat in 
a low straw chair watching her, and devising a new 
costume for their approaching trip to England. He 
had always considered it his especial mission to super- 
intend his wife’s dress, and his taste was admirable. 
He was a small wiry man with a neat reddish beard, 
not much hair on the top of his head, and a single eye- 
glass. But he had an energetic nose and forehead, 
and a singularly pleasant smile. 

Giuliana finished one of her notes and looked up, 
and instantly the smile came into his face, for he was 
quite as much in love with her as when he had married 
her. She looked pleased, and nodded to him before 
taking another sheet of paper. 

H wanted to ask you about Maria Montalto,’ he said 
suddenly, arresting her attention. 

Giuliana looked a little surprised, and laid down her 
pen. 

^Yes, dear. What do you wish to know about her?’ 

^You are just as intimate with her as ever, are you 
not?’ he inquired. 

‘ Oh, yes ! What could come between us ? Why do 
you ask?’ 

^Because if you are as good friends as you always 
used to be, I think you had better tell her that people 
are talking about her. I fike her, too, and it is a great 


116 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


pity that anything disagreeable should be said, espe- 
cially if there is no ground for it/ 

^I’m sure there is none,^ said Giuliana promptly. 
‘What is the gossip about her?^ 

‘ That she is seeing too much of Baldassare del Cas- 
tiglione/ 

‘He is in Milan, my dear. How can she see much 
of him ? What nonsense ! Really, Hondo, you should 
not repeat such stuff to me ! It’s too absurd !’ 

Parenzo’s first name was Sigismondo, of which 
Hondo is the diminutive. He shook his head quietly 
at his wife’s rebuke. 

‘I know he is in Milan,’ he answered. ‘But he was 
here for a fortnight a while ago, and people are saying 
that they met every day. Wlien he did not go to see 
her early in the afternoon, they met in quiet corners 
and walked together.’ 

‘I suppose that by “people” you mean Teresa Cres- 
cenzi,’ laughed Giuliana. ‘She is the mother of all 
gossip, you know.’ 

‘It was de Maurienne who told me,’ rejoined Sigis- 
mondo. 

‘ That’s the same thing ! ’ Giuliana laughed again. 

‘Oh, is it? I did not know. You don’t say so !’ 

Parenzo seemed amused and interested. Monsieur 
de Maurienne was a second secretary of the French 
Embassy, a rich man with artistic tastes, who gave out 
that if he were ordered to any other post he would leave 
the service and continue to live in Rome. 

‘Teresa means to marry him,’ Giuliana explained. 


CHAP. VII 


MARIA 


117 


‘I daresay she will. Of course, the story about Maria 
comes from her. There is not a word of truth in it. 
Castiglione is gone to Milan and may not come back 
for years. ^ 

^My dear, I’m always ready to take your opinion in 
such matters. But this afternoon Casalmaggiore — 
you know who I mean?’ 

‘The Colonel of Piedmont Lancers?’ 

‘Yes. He dropped in to see me at the Foreign Office 
about a special passport for a friend of his, and he 
happened to say that Castiglione had asked to exchange 
back into his old regiment, and that the matter would 
certainly be arranged, as every one hked him so much. 
The Colonel v/as very curious to find out whether there 
was a lady in the case, and what her name might be. 
He seems to have plenty of curiosity, Casalmaggiore ! 
I said I knew nothing about Castiglione’s love affairs, 
and I did not refer him to Teresa Crescenzi, for he was 
the last man she tried to marry before de Maurienne! 
That was all.’ 

Giuliana looked at her husband gravely. 

‘I did not know that Castiglione wished to come to 
Rome,’ she said. ‘I doubt if Maria knows it, and I’m 
almost sure she will not be pleased.’ 

‘I should not think she would,’ answered Sigismondo 
Parenzo. ‘And I’m quite sure that she won’t like to 
have her name coupled with his. Go on with your 
notes, my darling. If you think it best to speak to her, 
do so. Whatever you do will be right.’ 

‘I hope so, dear,’ answered GiuHana rather vaguely. 


118 


A LADY OF ROME 


PAKT I 


Then she smiled at her husband again and went on 
writing. 

Maria was very far from guessing that she was already 
so much talked of. She had hved so long in the pleasant 
security of a half-retirement from the world, and in the 
halo of semi-martyrdom created by Teresa Crescenzi^s 
original story, that she fancied herself unwatched and 
her behaviour uncriticised. She would certainly never 
have thought of connecting any change in Teresa’s dis- 
position towards her with the fact that they had met 
in a lonely street after sunset, both wearing veils and 
telling each other that they had been to confession. 
She had not even taken the trouble to suspect that 
Teresa had not told the truth ; still less had she guessed 
that Teresa was just then at a critical moment of her 
existence and was playing a very dangerous game in 
the hope of marrying Monsieur de Maurienne. Maria 
did not even know where he hved; and if she had ever 
bestowed a thought upon that, she would have sup- 
posed that he had rooms in the Embassy at the Palazzo 
Farnese. 

She was too happy now to think about indifferent 
people. She had seen Baldassare twice again before 
he had left, and each time it had seemed easier and 
more delightful to be with him. He had behaved per- 
fectly, and had shown that he was in earnest and meant 
to lead the ideal life of innocent and loving intercourse 
which she had planned for herself and him. Between 
their meetings she had written him long and eloquent 
letters, breathing peace, and hope, and an imdying 


CHAP. VII 


MARIA 


119 


love in a sphere far beyond this daily, earthly life. 
He had answered those letters by shorter ones that 
echoed them and promised all they asked. When he 
had come again he had stayed over an hour; when he 
came the last time he stayed almost all the afternoon, 
and Maria had boldly told Agostino that she was not 
at home for any one except the Marchesa di Parenzo. 
There was surely no harm in saying this, she thought, 
although she knew quite well that Giuliana and her 
husband were gone to Viterbo in a motor-car and would 
not return till late in the evening. She told herself 
that by some unforeseen accident they might come 
back sooner, and that Giuliana might appear about 
tea-time; and that it was therefore quite honest and 
truthful to tell Agostino that the Marchesa was to be 
admitted, if she came, well knowing that the chances 
were about ten thousand to one ‘against anything so 
disagreeable. The improbable had happened twice 
lately — Maria had chanced to meet Castiglione at 
Saint Peter’s, and Teresa had chanced to meet him 
just after meeting her. Those were two coincidences, 
both of which had produced more important results 
than might have been anticipated ; but it was not likely 
that there should be any more for a long time. 

Giuliana did not come back unexpectedly, and Maria 
and Castiglione were alone together from half-past two 
till nearly six; and during all that time there was no 
approach to anything which might have disturbed her 
certainty that they were both sure to keep the promise 
they had made. When they parted she laid both her 


120 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART 1 


hands on his and looked up into his face a little ex- 
pectantly. He might have given her one harmless 
kiss when he went away. But he did not. He shook 
his head and smiled, and he went away. 

She was proud of him then ; she was also a very little 
disappointed, though she would not have acknowledged 
it for worlds. He was right, of course. 

When he had left Rome she made an examination of 
her conscience, for somehow she found it very hard to 
do so when she was expecting to see him soon. She 
was alone with herself now, and she felt strong and 
satisfied in every way, except that she longed to see 
him again. She smiled when she remembered the grim 
old Capuchin’s words. A deadly risk? A mortal sin? 
W^hat risk had she run with such a man as Castiglione ? 
What mortal sin had she committed ? She thought of 
her life during the past years with amazement now. 
Why had she suffered so much and so uselessly ? Why 
had she never told herself the truth, faced it, humbled 
herself to tell it to him, and found peace in all those 
years ? There had been a few hard moments when she 
had done it at last, it was true ; but they were forgotten 
now. 

Yet there was one thing she must do, and she must do 
it at once. She would not go back to the Capuchin, 
but she would certainly go to some other confessor, 
not her own, and make sure that she had found absolu- 
tion, not for what she had done lately, since she was 
absolutely sure that she had done right, but for that 
long unacknowledged moment of weakness years ago. 


CHAP. VII 


MARIA 


121 


No priest in his senses could refuse her absolution for 
that. 

She meant to be as careful and scrupulous as she had 
ever been in the hardest days; but it was not easy to 
feel very humble and repentant just when she was so 
very happy, just when she felt that the new life was 
lifting her up, together with the man she loved so well. 

It did not seem wrong either to go to a confessor 
whose name she knew, and who had the reputation of 
being a very mild man, who always took the most 
gentle and charitable point of view. She had once 
heard Giuliana say with a laugh that he must have 
listened to some astounding confessions in his day, 
stories that would make one’s hair stand on end, be- 
cause he was such a mild man, and so charitable ; but 
even Giuliana admitted that he was as good as he was 
kind. There was no reason why Maria should not go 
to him. 

She made an appointment with him in a quiet and 
remote church ; she put on the grey veil and went in a 
cab in the afternoon, and she got what she hoped for. 
She came home, and Leone was waiting for her; and 
when she turned up the veil and kissed him there was 
a bright smile in her face. 

He looked at her critically for a moment. 

^To-day it was a good priest,’ he said, in a satisfied 
tone. ‘1 don’t hate this priest. You should always 
go to this one !’ 

^Perhaps I shall,’ Maria answered, still smiling. 

Early next morning she went out again, and knelt 


122 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


at the altar rail of the little new oratory that stands 
in a side street not far from where she lived, and a young 
priest with a martyr’s face came and gave her the 
Sacrament; and all was still and peaceful and happy; 
and she came home after her meditation, feeling that 
everything was right in heaven and earth, and that 
there could be no more sin in the world, and she would 
not even think of that bitter moment a week ago when 
she had bowed her head upon her hands and had cried 
out bitterly against the miserable weakness of this 
dying body. 

She had her tea and toast in her dressing-room, and 
Leone sat at the same httle table and had. his breakfast 
with her. She did not quite dare to look at him just 
then, but his presence somehow made her almost mad 
with happiness. She felt that God had taken away 
the reproach at last, and that she had a right to her son. 

So they laughed and talked, and she made beautiful 
plans for days in the country together, and for a month 
at Anzio in the hot weather, or even two, and Leone 
was to learn to swim and was to go out sailing with her, 
and they were to be just ^we two.’ But were there 
soldiers at Anzio? Not only there were soldiers, but 
there was a firing ground for big guns, with butts, and 
sometimes one heard the cannon booming all the morn- 
ing, and one could see the smoke come out and curl 
up after each shot. This was almost too much for the 
small boy, and he too went almost mad with joy and 
broke out with the brazen voice of healthy small-boy- 
hood, yelling the tune of the royal march and brandish- 


CHAP. VII MARIA 123 

ing his spoon over his head as if it were a sabre and he 
were leading a charge of cavalry. 

Then Destiny knocked at the door. 

^Come in/ said Maria Montalto cheerfully. 

Agostino brought a telegram, and she took it eagerly 
from the salver and tore it open. It could only be 
from Castighone — the news that he had got his ex- 
change into his old regiment. There was no one else 
in the world who would be likely to telegraph to her. 
Then she read the printed words. 

^My mother died peacefully last night. A letter 
follows to-day. — Diego. ^ 

Maria’s face changed suddenly, and grew grave and 
thoughtful. Leone, who had stopped singing, laid 
down his spoon and watched her. He did not think 
she looked as if anything had hurt her very much, but 
he saw that something serious had happened. 

She read the telegram over again, and folded it before 
she looked up at him. 

^ Your grandmama is dead, my dear,’ she said gently. 
^She died last night. You never saw her, but you will 
have to wear black for a little while.’ 

^Was it papa’s mother?’ asked Leone. 

^ Yes, dear. He telegraphs that he will write to-day.’ 

She looked out at some green trees which she could 
just see through the open window. Leone was reflect- 
ing on the news. 

‘Was she good or bad?’ he asked presently. 

Maria looked round and smiled faintly at the abrupt 
childish question. 


124 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


^She was a good woman, darling/ 

^Is papa like her?^ asked the boy. 

^Yes,^ Maria replied, after a moment^s thought. 
^Yes, he is hke his mother, I think. She was a very 
grand old lady with dark eyes and iron-grey hair.^ 

^Am I like papa?' inquired Leone. 

^No, dear. You are not like him.' Maria rose from 
the table rather quickly. 

^Why not, mama?' 

cannot tell,' answered Maria from the window, and 
not looking round. 

^Because most of the boys are, you know,' continued 
Leone. ^There's Mondo Parenzo, and Mario Campo- 
donico, and ' 

She could have screamed. 

Happily Leone remembered no more striking family 
likenesses just then, and presently she heard him get 
down from his chair and go off, as he had a way of doing 
when no one paid attention to what he said. It was also 
time for the morning inspection of his weapons, and 
he had lately noticed a slight tendency to rust about 
the breech of his newest tin gun, which worked just 
like a real one, and made nearly as much noise. 

When Maria was alone she recovered herself almost 
instantly, and when her maid came to her she was 
quite calm. She began to give orders about mourning, 
for in Rome that matter is regulated by custom with the 
most absolute precision, to the very day, and not to 
conform to the rules is regarded as little less than an 
insult offered to the family of the relative who has died. 


C3HAP. VII 


MARIA 


125 


Montalto had a good many more or less distant rela- 
tions in Rome, but it was not only out of consideration 
for them that Maria went into mourning on that very 
day and dressed Leone in black and white ; if there was 
one being in the world whose sorrow she was bound to 
respect outwardly as well as in every other way, that 
man was her husband. 

The death of the Dowager Countess of Montalto was 
in itself a matter of indifference to her ; she was much 
more affected by the announcement that a letter from 
Montalto himself would soon be on its way to her, and 
by the fact that she would have to answer it. Years 
had elapsed since the two had written to each other, 
and the moment of her final reconciliation with Cas- 
tiglione and with her conscience was not the one she 
would have chosen for renewing her correspondence 
with the husband she had injured. 

Meanwhile she telegraphed a short and formal mes- 
sage expressing her profound sympathy for his bereave- 
ment. More than this she could not do. 

She wrote to Castiglione later in the morning, for 
they had agreed that they would write very often, 
and she interpreted this to mean every day. But 
writing was very unsatisfactory now, and she felt a 
mad desire to see him and hear his voice. It was not 
•ohat she had any great trouble to tell him, and when 
ghe had written down the news of the Countess’s death 
it seemed a very small matter compared with what 
filled her heart to overflowing. She poured out her 
love in words she would hardly have spoken if he had 


126 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


been beside her, lest the great promise should be en- 
dangered. She told him truly that he was the hght 
of her hfe and the glory of her heart, and that no woman 
had ever loved him as she loved him; and this indeed 
was true, and she knew it. She called him heart of her 
heart and soul of her soul, she blessed him, she prayed 
for him, she bade him believe as she believed, lest 
death should part for ever what Heaven had at last 
made one. She wrote long and eloquently, she pressed 
innocently passionate kisses upon the last words, and 
she sent the letter on its way without reading it over. 

She busied herself in all sorts of ways that day; she 
could not find enough to do, enough to plan, enough to 
occupy her thoughts ; and though she did all cheerfully, 
telling herself that she was as happy as she had been 
in the early morning, there was something that hurt her, 
somewhere in her heart. 

Giuhana came to dine alone with her that evening. 
Afterwards they sat together a long time, talking of 
many things not especially important. Then Maria 
spoke at last. 

^Giuliana, tell me something. Do you think Leone 
is like his father ? ’ 

Her friend looked at her steadily for three or four 
seconds before she answered. 

^Yes, dear. He is very like him already.^ 

Maria bent her head and looked at her hands before 
she answered. 

H think so, too,’ she said. ^ Thank you for telling 
me frankly.’ 


CHAP. VII 


MARIA 


127 


Giuliana saw that the moment was favourable for 
saying more, and after a little pause she leant forward 
in her chair, with her elbows on her knees and her chin 
resting on her joined fingers. Maria knew that some- 
thing important was coming. 

^What is it?’ she asked. 

'Teresa has been talking about you again, dear,’ 
said Giuliana. 

' Has she invented a new story ? ’ 

'Yes. She is telling every one that you have been 
seeing a great deal of Balduccio.’ 

Maria bent her smooth brows a little, and asked to 
be told more precisely what Teresa had said. Giuliana 
repeated to her what Parenzo had told her, and Maria 
listened in silence. The Marchesa concluded by saying 
that whether it were true or not that Castiglione was 
coming back to Rome, Maria ought to know what the 
Colonel had said about it. Maria nodded thoughtfully 
and still looked down. 

'That much is true,’ she said at last. 'He is coming 
back, if he can exchange. But the rest, about our 
meeting in quiet streets — that is pure invention.’ 

Giuliana looked grave. She had known something 
of the truth during all these years, and she had under- 
stood her friend, as she thought, and had silently S5nn- 
pathised with her steady effort to atone for her fault. 
Very good women generally draw a sharp dividing line 
in such cases. Giuliana had always been sorry for 
Maria and had helped her in many ways, without ask- 
ing any confidences, to recover her self-respect and the 


128 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


relative esteem of the people amongst whom she lived. 
But the idea that Maria should ever again, under any 
imaginable circumstances, meet and talk with Cas- 
tiglione, even in the most innocent way, was revolting 
to Giuliana, and it was long since she had received such 
a shock as disturbed her equanimity when Maria ad- 
mitted the truth of what the Duca di Casalmaggiore 
had told Parenzo. Her face changed instantly, she 
leaned back again in her chair, folded her arms, and 
looked at the mantelpiece. Altogether she assumed 
an attitude of resistance, and Maria understood that 
she was displeased. 

‘You think I am wrong to let him come back, don’t 
you?’ Maria asked, rather timidly. 

‘Yes,’ Giuliana answered without the least hesita- 
tion, ‘I do.’ 

‘I will try and tell you what I feel and what I hope,’ 
Maria said. ‘You will understand me then, I’m sure. 
You will think I may be right.’ 

‘I doubt it,’ replied the Marchesa, but her crossed 
arms relaxed a little, and she settled herself to listen 
to her friend’s story. 

Maria spoke quietly at first. She did not mean to 
tell all when she began, but by degrees she felt that 
nothing less than the whole truth could justify her in 
her friend’s eyes. She talked on nervously then, some- 
times in a tone of passionate regret, sometimes in a 
strain of exaltation; she spoke very truthfully of facts, 
she even told of her interview with Monsignor Sara- 
cinesca and of her confession to Padre Bonaventura, 


CHAP, vn 


MARIA 


129 


the Capuchin monk, and all this was clear enough. It 
was when she gave the rein to her imagination and de- 
scribed the ideal life of innocent love and trustfulness 
which she hoped to lead with Baldassare that Giuliana 
stopped her abruptly. 

‘It is not possible/ said the Marchesa. ‘You should 
not think of such things. One can forgive a single fault 
in those one is very fond of, but to forgive another is 
quite a different matter ! ’ 

‘There is no danger,^ Maria answered confidently. 
‘But as for forgiving, the Bible says something about 
seventy times seven ! ’ she smiled. 

‘My dear,’ rejoined Giuliana, with the unconscious 
humour of a virtue beyond all attack, ‘seventy times 
seven would be a great many, in practice. Besides, 
there is danger, I am sure. A woman capable of rising 
to the moral height you talk of must certainly feel 
an insurmountable horror of seeing the other man as 
long as her husband is alive. If she can forgive her- 
self and him, she has not a very delicate conscience, it 
seems to me ! She might possibly see him once, but 
after that she would beg him to stay away, out of 
respect for her absent husband, against whom any more 
meetings would be an offence. And besides, every one 
knows that there is nothing more absolutely false, and 
ridiculous, and impossible than a friendship based on 
love ! I’m sorry if you do not hke what I say, Maria, 
but I tell you just what I think !’ 

‘You do, indeed !’ answered the younger woman, in a 
hurt tone. 


130 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


^ I cannot help it/ said Giuliana. ‘ You have told me 
some things about yourself this evening which I never 
dreamt of, but nothing you have told me has had any 
effect on what I thought from the first. You are 
doing very wrong in letting Castiglione come back. 
You ought never to see him while your husband is 
alive. That is what I think, and I shall never say it 
again, for it is of no use to give the same advice more 
than once.’ 

Giuliana rose to go home, for it was half-past ten. 
Her face was grave and calm, and a little severe. Maria 
rose too, feeling as if a conflict had begun which must in 
the end force her to give up either Giuliana or Castiglione. 

^Giuliana,’ she said sadly, ^you will not throw over 
our friendship because you do not approve of every- 
thing I do, will you?’ 

Giuliana faced her and held out her hand frankly. 

^No,’ she answered. ^I’m not that sort of friend. 
But if I see you are going wrong I shall try to save you 
in spite of yourself.’ 

^ Thank you, dear,’ said Maria, trying to feel grateful; 
^but I shall not go wrong. You don’t quite understand 
me — that’s all.’ 

hope you are right,’ replied Giuhana, ^but I be- 
lieve you are quite mistaken.’ 

They did not part very cordially, and when Giuliana 
was alone in her carriage she almost made up her mind 
to save her friend by force. She thought of writing to 
Castighone himself, to tell him frankly that it was his 
duty as a man of honour to stay away. He might 


CHAP, vn 


MARIA 


131 


possibly have accepted the warning if she had carried 
out her intention, but she soon saw many reasons for 
not interfering so directly. 

^Beware of first impulses/ says the cynic, 'for they 
are generally good ones.^ 


CHAPTER VIII 


Two days later Maria received a letter from Castiglione 
saying that his return was now a matter of certainty, 
but that there were formalities to be fulfilled which 
would take some little time. Most fortunately there 
was a step in the regiment. The crabbed old major of 
the Piedmont Lancers was promoted to be lieutenant- 
colonel of another regiment, the senior captain was 
gazetted major, and Castiglione himself would come 
back as the junior captain, probably during the next 
month. 

Maria’s heart beat fast, and she smiled as she thought 
of Giuliana’s expressed determination to ^save her in 
spite of herself.’ It was morning, and she went out 
alone for a walk. It was good to live to-day, and to 
move swiftly through the bright spring air was to be 
twice alive. She went by the cross streets to the Via 
del Veneto and through the Porta Pinciana to the Villa 
Borghese. She skirted the racecourse below the Dairy, 
and stood still a moment to watch the riders go by. 
Not far from her she saw Angelica Campodonico and 
her young brother Mario riding on each side of their 
teacher. The slim young girl sat straight and square 
and was enjoying herself, but the boy grabbed the 
pommel of his saddle whenever the riding-master looked 
132 


CHAP, vni 


MARIA 


133 


away, and seemed to stick on by his heels. He was 
the boy whom Leone had ^hammered,’ as he expressed 
it, and Maria smiled as she thought of her own little 
son’s sturdy back and small, hard fists. 

Presently a young lieutenant of the Piedmont Lancers 
cantered up on a beautiful English mare. He rode 
very well, as many Italian officers now do, and he was 
evidently aware of it. The familiar uniform fascinated 
Maria, and her eyes lingered on it as the young man 
rode past her. He saw that she was a woman of the 
world, and that she was still young and pretty; and 
in spite of the deep black she wore, it at once occurred 
to him that this was the best place in the wide ring for 
jumping his mare in and out of the meadow over the 
rather stiff fence. Still Maria watched him, and he 
might not have been so pleased with himself if he could 
have guessed that she was thinking of another officer 
who was an even better rider than he, but who would 
certainly not have cared to show off before a pretty 
lady whom he did not know. And Maria knew that 
before long Baldassare del Castiglione would sometimes 
come and exercise his horses in the same place, and 
that she would very probably happen to be walking 
that way and would see him. And he would stop and 
salute her, and draw up by the outer fence and shake 
hands with her and exchange a few words ; and his eyes 
would be as blue as sapphires, and she would be the 
proudest woman in the world, almost without knowing 
it. So she unconsciously smiled at the young lieu- 
tenant and turned away. 


134 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


She walked on, and before long she was sitting under 
the ilex-trees above the Piazza di Siena. There was a 
new bench there; or perhaps it had only been painted. 
There was water in the fountain, leaping up and spar- 
kling under the deep green trees. The basin had been 
dry on that winter’s afternoon long ago, and the ever- 
green oaks had looked much darker. That had been 
hke death; this was life itself. The past did not exist; 
it had never existed at all, because it had all been a 
horrible mistake, an untruth, and a loathsome sin; 
a sin confessed now, an untruth forgiven, a mistake 
explained and condoned. In the future all was love; 
and yet all was right and truthful and straightforward, 
as justice itself. Giuliana’s warning was but the well- 
meant preaching of a good friend who could never 
understand ; the grim old monk’s words were far away. 
Where was the deadly risk, or the mortal sin? God 
was strong and good, and would make all good deeds 
seem easy; and she and the man she loved would rise 
far beyond this dying body, by that good, to be united 
for ever in light and peace. Baldassare v/ould beheve, 
as she did, and in the end they would find heaven to- 
gether. 

She leaned back, and her eyes looked upwards as 
she sat there alone, and in all her being there was not 
the least thought that was not innocent and pure and 
beautiful. She communed with herself as with an 
angel, and with the image of the man she loved as with 
a saint. She felt as she felt sometimes when she knelt 
at early morning before the altar rail of the little oratory 


CHAP, vm 


MARIA 


135 


near her house, and the young priest with his martyr^s 
face came softly down and ministered to her. 

She almost trembled when she rose at last to leave 
the place where she had been hfted up from the world, 
the place where she had once spoken such bitter and 
cruel words to him who was now once more the heart 
of her heart and the soul of her soul. She walked 
homewards in a deep, sweet dream of refreshment. 

The footman opened the door, and as she entered 
the small bright hall she saw a big letter with a black 
border and Spanish stamps lying upon some others, and 
she knew Montalto’s large, stiff handwriting. Her heart 
sank, though she had expected the letter for two days. 

She took it with no outward show of emotion, for she 
felt that the servant was watching and that he guessed 
whence it came. In a steady voice she asked if Leone 
had come in from his walk with old Agostino, and the 
footman told her they were still out. Her Excellency 
would remember that the Signorino was gone to the 
gardens of the Palazzo Trasmondo to play with his 
httle friends. 

Maria went to her sitting-room without calling her 
maid, and sat down to read her husband’s letter with 
closed doors. She felt strong and brave, and resolved 
to think of the absent man with all the respect Giuliana 
Parenzo could have exacted from her. 

It was a very long letter, filling several big black- 
edged sheets; but the handwriting was large and stiff, 
and easy to read, and at first her eyes followed the 
words quickly and unhesitatingly. 


136 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


Montalto was deeply affected by his mother^s death; 
that was evident in the short, strained sentences that 
were painfully formal save for a heart-broken word here 
and there. Conscientiously he told his wife the short 
story of the illness during the last days, the last hours, 
at the last minute, at the end. She read with a sort of 
reverence, but she wondered why he gave her every 
detail. Had he come to her for sympathy, after all the 
stern and unforgiving years that had passed? 

Then she took the next sheet, and the truth broke 
upon her. So far, he had given her an account of what 
had happened, of how his mother had suddenly begun 
to sink and had died peacefully after receiving all the 
Sacraments. But he had not told what her last words 
had been. 

‘My dear son,’ she had said just before she had closed 
her eyes for ever, ‘ I have been very unforgiving towards 
your wife. Perhaps I have helped to make you so. 
Promise me that you will go to her and ask her pardon 
for me. And be reconciled with her, if God wills that 
it be possible.’ 

She had said all these words with great distinctness, 
for she had been calm and fully conscious, and able to 
speak until the last moment of her life; and then her 
heart had stopped beating and death had come quietly. 

Maria held the sheet before her with both her hands, 
trying to go on, and determined to read bravely to the 
end, but it was a long time before she got to the next 
words, and she felt as if she had been unexpectedly 
condemned to die. 


CHAP, vni 


MAEIA 


137 


The man she had injured meant to fulfil his mother's 
last request to the letter. For he asked his erring 
wife's pardon for the dead woman who had not been 
able to forgive her till the end. He asked her to write 
out the message to the dead and send it to him. 

That would be the easiest part. How could Maria 
find it hard to say that she forgave what she had de- 
served? But the rest was different. 

He went on to say that it was not only for his mother’s 
sake that he wished to be reconciled: it was for his 
own. In spite of all, he loved Maria dearly. He had 
known how she had lived, how her whole life since he 
had finally left her had been an atonement for one fault; 
and that one fault he now freely forgave her. He 
would never speak of it again, he said, for he was sure 
that she had suffered more from it than he himself. 

She guessed, as she read, what it must have cost him 
to say that much. He earnestly desired a reconcilia- 
tion. He wished to come back to Rome to live in his 
own house, with his wife, before all the world. With a 
pathetic inability to put his feelings into words, he said 
that he would try to make her happy ^by all means 
acceptable to her.' Yet he did not wish to force this 
reconciliation upon her, for he was well aware that in 
leaving her he had conferred on her a measure of in- 
dependence and had given her good reason to suppose 
that he would never come back. Unless she willingly 
agreed to what he now offered, he would never come back 
to Rome; for it had been one thing to stay with his 
invalid mother, leaving his wife to live where she 


138 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


pleased, but it would be quite another in the eyes of 
the world if he returned to his own house and his wife 
continued to stay in a hired house. Hitherto there 
had been no scandal which his authority could not now 
put down, no open break which might not still be re- 
paired with dignity. Then, on a sudden, the writing 
became less stiff and clear, and the lonely man’s full 
heart overflowed. He loved her so dearly — he did not 
repeat ‘ in spite of all ’ — why might he not hope to 
make her happy at last ? In the past he had not known 
how to show her how tenderly, how devotedly, he had 
loved her; he had been but a dull companion for her; 
she had been made to marry him almost against her 
will. Without again speaking of her fault he was 
finding excuses for what he had forgiven. And the 
burden came back again and again, he loved her with 
all his heart. It was no mere empty show of recon- 
cihation that he offered her, for the sake of his liame, 
for what the world might say or think. He wished, 
he asked to be allowed, to take her back altogether, 
wholly, as if there had been no division. 

Maria held the sheet tight between her upraised 
hands, but a painful tremor ran through her to the tips 
of her fingers, and the paper shook before her eyes. 

She had reached the end now. He had poured out 
his soul as he had never done before then to any living 
being; but quite at the last line his natural formahty 
returned, he ^begged the favour of a speedy reply at 
her convenience,’ and he signed his name in full — 
^ Diego Silani di Montalto.’ 


CHAP, vm 


MARIA 


139 


After a long time Maria rose from her seat, and her 
face was almost grey. She went to her writing-table 
and opened a small desk with a simple little gold key 
she wore on her watch chain. The receptacle was al- 
ready half full of Castiglione’s letters, and she laid her 
husband’s on top of the heap, shut down the hd, and 
turned the key again. 

Just then Leone burst into the room, lusty and 
radiant. He stopped short when he saw his mother’s 
face. 

^You have been to see the bad priest again!’ he 
cried angrily. 

*No, dear, I shall not go to see him again. I have 
had a great — a great surprise. Papa is coming back 
soon.’ 


CHAPTER IX 


Maria did not hesitate, though she felt as if her heart 
must break with every throbbing beat. Whether 
Giuliana Parenzo was just or not in telling her that 
she had not a very delicate conscience, she had at least 
a strong will and a lasting determination to do what 
she thought right, which more than made up for the 
absence of that sensitiveness on which her happier 
friend laid so much stress. 

Until Leone asked her what was the matter, her 
thoughts whirled in a chaos of pain and darkness, but 
there was little or no hesitation in her answer to his 
question. She wished with all her heart that she had 
put him off until there had been nothing in her face to 
betray her, and that he might never have connected 
her too evident distress with the news she had just 
received. But she had spoken because her mind was 
made up in that moment, and her determination foimd 
words at once; and the child at once hated the man 
who was coming back. 

She was going to accept the proffered reconciliation 
outright, if it killed her, and she really believed that it 
might. Her dream of hght and peace ended then; 
she had atoned, perhaps, but that was not enough. 
Atonement means reconciling, and such a reconciling 
140 


CHAP. IX 


MARIA 


141 


meant to Maria an expiation more dreadful than she 
had dreamed of. She remembered only too vividly 
the material repulsion for Montalto that had grown 
upon her quickly in the first months of their life together, 
and she knew that it would be stronger now than it had 
been then. Yet she must live through it and hide it. 
To her it seemed inconceivable that he should wish to 
come back to her at all. The nobler sort of women can 
never understand that men they dislike can love them, 
and to be given in marriage to one of them is a torment 
and feels hke an outrage. 

Maria meant to bear it all as well as she could. A 
woman able to dream of such a lofty and spiritual love 
as had appeared possible to her in a short and unfor- 
gettable vision was not one to hesitate at a sacrifice^ 
much less if justice demanded it. In old Jerusalem 
would she not have been stoned to death? Yet that 
would have been the quick end of all suffering, whereas 
Montalto’s return was only the beginning of something 
much worse. 

It is often easier to forgive than to accept forgiveness. 
After Maria had read her husband’s letter there were 
times when she wished that all his love for her could 
be turned into hatred. He might come back then, to 
show the world a comedy of a reconcihation, though he 
might frankly detest the sight of her; he might come 
back and behave to her as he had after she had admitted 
her guilt, and never speak to her except from necessity, 
while treating her always with that same formal courtesy 
he had learned from his Spanish mother. It would 


142 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


have been easy to bear that; it would have been far 
easier then to live without seeing the man of her heart. 
But to be taken back to be loved, to be cherished and 
caressed, to be the instrument of happiness in the hfe 
of the husband she had dishonoured, and whose mere 
presence and shghtest touch made her writhe — that 
was going to be hard indeed. Yet she meant to bear 
it. In her simple faith she prayed only that it might 
be counted to her hereafter as a part of her purgatory. 

Castiglione received her letter telling him all the 
truth and bidding him stay where he was, if he could, 
or at least not try to see her if he were obliged to come 
to Rome. His first impulse was to ask for leave again, 
if only for three days, and to go to her at once to im- 
plore her to refuse Montalto’s offer, to risk anything 
rather than let her accept an existence which he knew 
would be one of misery. He felt and believed that it 
would kill her. 

In some ways the thought of it was even more revolt- 
ing to him than to her. He had been faithful for years 
to the memory of the love which he believed he had 
destroyed in her; but now that all was changed, now 
that he knew how she loved him, she was his, his very 
own, far more than she had ever been. He felt, too, 
that she had really raised him above his old self; that 
he could really live near her, see her, talk with her, and 
touch her hand, and love her as he had promised, with 
no shame, or thought of shame, to her or to himself. 
Long years of clean living had already made him dif- 
ferent from his comrades, and his unchanging will 


CHAP. IX 


MAKIA 


143 


made a law for himself which he had never transgressed. 
Does the world think that beyond the pale of holy 
orders, of whatsoever persuasion, there are no men 
who live as he did, faithful and true to one dear memory 
to the very end? Sometimes what we call the world 
seems to know more of its patent evil than of its own 
hidden good. And where the good is strong and rules 
a man’s secret life, it may lead him far. 

But Castiglione was only human, and his jealousy 
of Montalto was cruel when it woke again. It had 
been great in old days, but it was ten times more dan- 
gerous now, for it had been long asleep in security and 
it awoke in anger. Maria had not been his own, but 
throughout that time no other man had called her his, 
and now Montalto claimed her, under his right to for- 
give an injury if he chose, and she was going to submit 
and surrender herself. 

He wrote her a passionate letter, imploring her not 
to ruin both their hves by giving herself back to her 
husband, and beseeching her to see him at once that 
he might tell her all he could not write. If he could 
not get leave again so soon he would come without, if 
it cost him a long arrest. Maria was to telegraph her 
answer, and if no message came within two days he 
would start, whatever happened. As for declining the 
exchange he had asked, he could not do that ; he would 
be ordered to join his old regiment in Rome during the 
next ten days at the latest, and it was impossible that 
he should not meet her sometimes. 

For a moment Maria hesitated, for she felt that he 


144 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART 1 


was desperate, and she herself was not far from despair. 
But something human on which she had never counted 
helped her a httle. If Castiglione came suddenly to 
Rome, it would be known, and it would surely be said 
that he had come to see her; if no one else knew it, 
Teresa Crescenzi surely would, and would tell every 
one. She thought of Montalto^s letter, telling her that 
he had known of her quiet life, and that the dignity she 
had shown had appealed to him. He should not come 
back now to be told that he had been deceived, and 
that Castiglione made long journeys expressly to see 
her. Her pride would not suffer that. 

She went out on foot and entered the small telegraph 
office outside the railway station, for she could not 
have sent her message by a servant’s hand. She took 
the ink-crusted pen and a flimsy blank form, and 
thought of what she should say. The shabby young 
clerk at the little sHding window would have to read 
the telegram, and perhaps he knew her by sight. She 
thought a moment longer, and then wrote a few words : — 

impossible. If you really wish to help a person in 
great distress, be patient. Await letter.’ 

This looked very cold when it was written, but she 
thought it would do, and she felt sure that Castiglione 
would obey her request. At least, he could not leave 
Milan until he received the letter she was about to 
write to him. 

It reached him on the following evening, and in the 
tender, beseeching words he read what was worse than 
a sentence of exile. But he submitted then, for it was 


CHAP. IX 


MARIA 


145 


as if she spoke to him, and he could hear every tone 
of her voice in the silence of his room. Since she had 
taken him back to her heart she dominated him by the 
nobility of her love, and by her touching trust in his. 
He read her letter twice, and then burnt it in the empty 
fireplace, carefully setting a second match to the last 
white shreds that showed at the edges of the thin black 
ashes. 

^You are a saint on earth, ^ he said to her in his 
thoughts. ^You are good enough to make a man be- 
lieve in God.’ 

Perhaps he rose one step higher in that moment, 
for he was in earnest. But it had cost him much. 
For three days he had kept his valise packed and ready 
to start at any moment, and he saw it lying in a corner 
as he turned from the fireplace. Once again the strong 
temptation came upon him to take it and go down- 
stairs. That would be the irrevocable step, for he 
knew well enough that if he went so far as that he 
would not turn back. 

His big jaw thrust itself forward rather savagely as 
he crossed the room, picked up the valise, and set it on a 
chair to unpack it. When he had put his things away 
he threw it into a corner, lit a cigar, and sat down by the 
open window to watch the people in the broad street. 
He hoped that he might not think for a little while. 

There was a knock at the door and his orderly came 
in with a telegram. He almost started at the sight of 
the brownish yellowish little square of folded paper in 
the man’s hand. 


146 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


^ Join us at once to ride in military races on Thursday. 
War Office telegraphs order exchange to your colonel 
to-night. Make haste, in order to rest your horses. 
Welcome back to the regiment. — Casalmaggiore, 
Colonel.’ 

Castiglione’s hand dropped upon his knee, holding 
the open telegram. The orderly stood motionless, 
stolidly waiting to be sent away. He would have 
waited in the same position till he dropped, but it 
seemed a long time before the officer turned his head. 

^Pack everything to-night,’ he said. ^Telephone in 
my name to the station and order a box for the horses 
as far as Pisa, and be ready to start with them by the 
first train to-morrow. I am to join the Piedmont 
Lancers in Rome at once. You will spend the night in 
Pisa to rest the horses, and come on with them the next 
day. I will attend to your leave and pass. Take what 
you need for yourself for four days. You will have a 
day and a night in Rome.’ 

The orderly was a good man and could be trusted. 
Castiglione got into his best tunic, buckled on his sabre, 
took his cap and gloves, thrust the telegram into his 
breast pocket, and went to take leave of his colonel 
and his brother officers, wherever he might find them. 
He was in no hurry, but it was a relief to get out of 
doors, and he walked slowly along the broad pavement, 
returning the salutes of the many soldiers who passed 
him. 

It would be quite out of the question to disobey such 
a summons as he had just received. Nothing short of a 


CHAP. IX 


MARIA 


147 


feigned illness could have excused a short delay, and 
besides, the wording of the telegram showed that he 
was wanted for the honour of his old regiment in the 
coming races. He had always been the best rider of 
them all, and if the Piedmont Lancers did not make a 
good appearance, owing to his voluntary absence, he 
would not be easily forgiven; indeed, he would hardly 
have forgiven himself. 

But he would not write or telegraph to Maria that he 
was coming, and he was sure that she would not write 
to him again unless he answered her letter. Once in 
Rome, he meant to send her the telegram he had in his 
pocket, to prove that he had been ordered back, and 
that his coming had not been voluntary. She would 
see him then, for it would be different; she could not 
refuse, as she might if she thought he had come in spite 
of her letter. His exchange had been at most but a 
matter of days; it had become a matter of horns. So 
much the better, since fate condescended to help him 
a httle. 

The vision of hope he had enjoyed so short a time 
rose before him again. Montalto might not return 
after all, or he might break his neck on the way, but 
Castiglione doubted the probabihty of such a termina- 
tion to his own troubles. 


CHAPTER X 


The workmen were very busy at the Palazzo Montalto, 
and the rich widow from Chicago who occupied one of 
the large apartments was a httle nervous, for there 
is a clause in all leases of portions of Roman palaces to 
the effect that the owner may turn any tenant out at 
short notice if he needs the rooms for his own use; and 
as the good lady had not the slightest idea of the real 
size of the place, she had long supposed that she was 
living in the state apartment. 

But she need not have disturbed herself and her 
friends about that. Montalto would as soon have let 
the place where his mother and his wife had Hved with 
him as he would have put up his titles at auction. He 
had sent orders that the vast suite was to be got ready 
in a month’s time, and as no one had expected that he 
would ever come back to live there, the accumulation 
of dust was found to be portentous. Moreover, all the 
carpets had disappeared, no one knew how, the uphol- 
stered furniture was all moth-eaten, the window fasten- 
ings would not work, the mirrors were hopelessly tar- 
nished, and the ceiling of the ballroom had been badly 
damaged by the bursting of a water-pipe in the apart- 
ment over it. 

To make matters worse, the old steward of the Roman 
148 


CHAP. X 


MARIA 


149 


estates, whose business it was to keep the palace in 
order, was in his dotage, and was expected to have a 
stroke of apoplexy at any moment. 

Then one morning a business-hke young man arrived 
from Montalto, the great family seat on the Austrian 
frontier, with instructions to put matters right, and to 
lose no time about it. The old Roman steward flew 
into a frightful rage because the Montalto steward was 
his superior, and promptly had his stroke of apoplexy, 
which helped things a little without kilhng him. The 
business-like young man spent one whole day in watch- 
ing the people at work and never said a word, but 
when the evening came, he had them all paid and he 
turned them out, to their amazement and mortifica- 
tion. Then he took a cab and drove to the Via San 
Martino and asked to see the Countess, just before she 
dressed for dinner. He was a very modest young man, 
and he waited in the hall for her answer; and when 
Agostino came back to inquire more particularly who 
he was and what he wanted, he said that he was the 
chief steward of Montalto and had a message from His 
Excellency the Count to Her Excellency the Countess, 
if she would be so kind as to receive him. In the eyes 
of the butler he at once became an important personage, 
and many apologies were offered for having let him 
wait in the outer hall. 

Maria received him in her sitting-room. In her deep 
mourning she looked unnaturally pale, and her dark 
eyes seemed very big. She pointed to a chair and sat 
down herself. 


150 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


The young man lost no time and told her at once that 
the Count had sent him to see that the palace was made 
habitable at once, and desired that the Countess should 
be consulted on every point about which she was wilhng 
to give her opinion. She was to select her own rooms 
and direct that they should be hung and furnished to 
her taste, and the Count would esteem it a great favour 
if she would take the trouble to order everything else 
to be changed as she thought best, excepting only the 
late Dowager Countess’s rooms, which he desired should 
not be touched. Her Excellency doubtless knew which 
those rooms were, and would she be so very kind as to 
say when it would be convenient for her to meet her 
obedient servant at the palace and to give him her 
orders. He was instructed to spare no trouble or 
expense in order to please her if possible. 

Maria recognised her husband’s formal expressions 
in what the quiet young man said so fluently. Doubt- 
less Montalto had written every word of his orders with 
his own hand, and the steward had read them over till 
he knew them by heart. She thanked him and said 
she would meet him at the palace the next morning at 
ten o’clock. 

She did not take Leone with her, for she was sure 
that the great neglected house would be gloomy be- 
yond description, and she did not wish h im to have a 
sad impression of the house in which he had been born, 
and in which he was now to live. Besides, she could 
not quite trust herself, and the small boy’s eyes were 
marvellously quick to detect any change in her face. 


CHAP. X 


MARIA 


151 


The places where things very good or very bad to 
remember have happened to us are ever afterwards in- 
habited by invisible ghosts, kind or malignant, who 
show themselves to us when we revisit the spots they 
haunt, though they never disturb any one else. Maria 
knew that; an evil genius had long dwelt under those 
ilex-trees in the Villa Borghese, and she had exorcised 
it, but there were spectres in her former home that 
would not be laid. She bit her hp as she entered the 
once familiar hall, and saw room after room opening 
out beyond it in a long perspective that ended in a closed 
door adorned with mirrors in its panels. That door 
had always been kept shut when all the others were 
open; it led into the room that had been her boudoir. 
Even at that great distance Maria could see how dim 
the old glasses in the panels had become. 

She walked slowly through the apartment, looking 
to the right and left. Something had been done, but 
not much. There was a ladder against a wall in one 
room and the hangings were half torn down; a dozen 
rolls of new carpet lay in confusion in another, redolent 
of that extraordinary odour which only perfectly new 
carpets have ; in one of the halls beyond, a quantity of 
more or less decrepit sofas and chairs had been collected 
and disembowelled, and the moth-eaten wool and musty 
horse-hair lay about them in mouldering heaps; the 
portraits were still in their places on the walls, and 
Montalto seemed to look sadly down from half a dozen 
frames at his young wife as she went by in black ; there 
was Montalto in armour and Montalto in black velvet 


152 


A LADY OP ROME 


PART I 


and ruffles, Montalto in a Spanish cloak and Montalto 
in a flowered silk French coat, with a powdered wig; 
but it was always Montalto ; the likeness between them 
all from generation to generation had been amazing, 
and the old pictures made Maria nervous. 

The young steward, whose name was Orlando 
Schmidt, walked by her left, hat in hand, glancing 
respectfully at her now and then to see whether she 
was going to say anything. But her Hps were pressed 
together, and he fancied that the rings round her eyes 
grew darker as she neared the end of the long suite, and 
still went on towards the closed door with its tarnished 
mirrors. She looked very pale and tired. 

^Will your Excellency sit down and rest a while 
he asked. 

^Not yet, thank you. Presently.^ 

And she went slowly on, slowly and steadily, towards 
the closed door, till she laid her hand on the chiselled 
handle and turned it and pushed against the panel. 
But it would not move. 

^Perhaps it is locked,^ suggested Schmidt. ‘I had 
not taken it for a real door. I thought the apartment 
ended here.^ 

^No,’ Maria answered in a low tone. ^This used to 
be my boudoir. Try and open it. I want to go in.^ 

The young man tried the handle, put his eye to the 
keyhole, and tried again. Then he shook his head. 

^It is not a very strong door,^ said Maria. think 
we could break it open. I want to go in.’ 

can certainly break it,’ answered Schmidt. 


CHAP. X 


MAEIA 


153 


He threw his shoulder against the crack and pushed 
with all his might, but though the door creaked a little 
it would not move. 

Hs there no other way?' asked Maria impatiently. 
H must get in !' 

^Oh, yes,' Schmidt answered, Hhere is another way. 
I can smash the lock.' 

‘1 wish you would !' 

He stood back and made a little gesture with his 
hand for her to move aside, and before she knew what 
he was going to do, the heel of his heavy walking boot 
struck the lock with the force of a small battering-ram. 
The door flew back on its hinges into total darkness, 
and there was a crash of broken glass as one of the 
mirrors fell from its panel to the marble Venetian pave- 
ment. 

Maria uttered a little cry of hurt surprise, for what 
Schmidt had done seemed brutal to her; but she passed 
him quickly and went on into the dark, and the bits of 
broken mirror cracked under her tread. She was sure 
that the room had never been opened since she had 
left it, and she went straight to one of the windows 
without running against the furniture; the familiar 
fastenings had rusted and she could not move them 
quickly. Schmidt lit a wax-Hght and followed, but 
before he reached her side she had succeeded in open- 
ing the inner shutters, and the bright light from the 
sUts in the blinds shone into the room through the dim 
panes. 

Maria turned from the window and looked about her. 


154 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


The furniture stood as she had last seen it. A moment 
later Schmidt threw open the glass and the blinds and 
the violent sunshine flooded the dusty marble floor, 
the faded pink silk on the walls, the tarnished inlaid 
tables, the chairs, and a little sofa near the fireplace. 

^It is too much!’ cried Maria nervously. ^ There is 
too much hghti’ 

Schmidt drew the blinds near together without quite 
shutting them. When he looked behind him again 
Maria was sitting on the little sofa near the fireplace, 
her face turned from him, and her fingers were ner- 
vously pulling at a rent in the pink silk which tore under 
her touch. But the young steward did not notice the 
action, and was already ‘making a mental list of the 
repairs that would be necessary to make the boudoir 
habitable again. Maria looked ill, and he thought she 
was tired. 

But the evil spirit that haunted the place was there, 
beside her on the little sofa, and she could hear its 
demon whisper in her ear. That was a part of her 
expiation, and she knew it. Then she spoke to Schmidt 
steadily, but without turning her head. 

wish everything taken out of this room,’ she said, 
and she listened to her own voice to be sure that it did 
not shake. ^Everything must be new, the hangings, 
the ceiling, the furniture, the fireplace. You see how 
dilapidated it all is, don’t you?’ 

She asked the question as if to justify her orders. 

'There is nothing fit to keep,’ answered the steward, 
"'except that inlaid writing-table and the bookcase.’ 


CHAP. X 


MARIA 


155 


prefer to have them changed, too,^ said Maria 
quickly. ^Everything! Let the new things be dark. 
There is too much light here. Not red, either. I hate 
red. Let everything be dark grey.^ 

greenish grey, perhaps?^ suggested Schmidt 
diffidently. 

^Yes, yes! But dark, very dark, with black furni- 
ture. Paint this marble fireplace black ’ 

^ Black?’ exclaimed the young man, with a polite 
interrogation. ^Perhaps it would be better to have a 
new one of black marble then?’ 

^ Yes — anything, provided it is changed, and every- 
thing is new and quite different! That is all I want. 
And my dressing-room was there.’ She pointed to a 
second door. ^My bedroom was beyond it. I’m sure 
that door is locked, too. Could you go round by the 
other way and see if the key is on that side?’ 

She turned her white face to Schmidt. He guessed 
that she had been moved by some strong association 
and wished to be alone to recover herself, and in a 
moment he was gone ; for he was a tactful person. 

When she was alone she did not bury her face in- the 
corner of the tattered little sofa, nor did any tears rise 
in her tired eyes ; she only sat there quite still, and her 
head fell forward as if she had fainted; but her fingers 
slowly tore little shreds from the faded pink silk of the 
sofa. 

Schmidt stayed away a long time. She heard his 
footsteps at last on a tiled floor in the distance, and 
raised her hand quickly to cover her eyes, while her lips 


156 


A LADY OF HOME 


PART I 


moved for a moment. When the steward imlocked 
the second door and came in, she was standing quietly 
by the window waiting for him. 

The worst was over for that day, and though she was 
still very pale, she was no longer deadly white, and the 
haunted look that had come back suddenly to her eyes 
was gone. She went through the house systematically 
after that, conscientiously fulfilling her husband’s re- 
quests; she gave clear directions about her own rooms 
and the one she meant to give Leone, and made many 
suggestions about the rest. She showed Schmidt the 
little apartment once occupied by her mother-in-law, 
and advised the steward to have it carefully cleaned 
and set in order, since nothing was to be changed in it. 
At present, she said, it looked neglected, and the Count 
would certainly not fike to find it so. Schmidt nodded 
gravely, as if he quite understood. She was so quiet 
and calm now, that he thought he had been mistaken 
in thinking her disturbed by some poignant memory. 
She had probably felt ill. 

When she left the palace at last, she told him to let 
her know when the refurnishing was so far advanced 
as to make a visit from her necessary, and she thanked 
him so kindly for his attention that he blushed a little. 

For Orlando Schmidt was a modest and well-educated 
young man, of a respectable Austrian family by his 
father’s side, but an Italian as to his nationality. He 
had been to good schools, he had studied scientific 
farming at an agricultural institute in Upper Austria, 
and he had followed a commercial course in Milan; he 


CHAP. X 


MARIA 


157 


had also learned something about practical building, 
and was naturally possessed of tolerably good taste. 

hope you will stay here and take charge of the 
Roman estate/ said the Countess. ‘I fancy the lands 
are in as bad a condition as the apartment upstairs.^ 

She smiled graciously, and Schmidt blushed again. 

‘Your Excellency is very kind,’ he said modestly, 
as he stood beside her low phaeton with his hat in his 
hand. ‘I am lodged here in the palace, if you need me.’ 

She drove away, and before the carriage turned the 
corner of the palace on the way to the more central part 
of the city, she had quite forgotten Orlando Schmidt, 
though he had made such a favourable impression 
upon her. 

But the young man stood before the great arched 
entrance and watched her till she was out of sight, 
with an expression she could not have understood; 
and afterwards he whistled softly as he turned back to 
ascend the stairs again in order to make careful notes 
of all she had said about each room. He began in the 
boudoir, and he sat down on the little sofa near the 
fireplace, with his large note-book on his knee, and wrote 
busily while her words were still fresh in his memory. 
Once or twice he looked towards the door, which he 
could see as he sat, and the broken pieces of mirror 
caught his eye. He remembered that his Italian mother 
had once told him when he was a boy that it was very 
unlucky to break a mirror. But he smiled at the recol- 
lection, for he was not a superstitious young man, and 
had received a half-scientific education. 


158 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


It was nearly twelve o’clock when Maria left the 
palace. She had not realised that it was so late, and she 
had told the coachman to take her to a dressmaker’s 
far down the Corso, near the Piazza del Popolo. She 
was to have tried on a couple of frocks which were 
necessary to complete her mourning; but the gun-fire 
from the Janiculus and the clashing of all the church 
bells told her that it was noon already, and too late, 
for Leone always had his dinner with her at half-past 
twelve. She touched Telemaco’s broad black back 
with the edge of her parasol to call his attention, and 
she told him to go home instead of stopping at the 
dressmaker’s. 

He asked whether he should pass through the Villa 
by Porta Pinciana, that being as near a way as any 
other, and easy for the horses, and she nodded her assent. 
She had not been in the Villa since the day when she 
had walked there alone, and had gone home and found 
Montalto’s letter. 

It was a warm cpring morning, but the horses trotted 
briskly up the main avenue that leads in from the gate, 
glad to be in the pleasant shade. Maria lowered her 
parasol to the bottom of the phaeton without shutting 
it, for she knew she should need it again in a few minutes. 
There was no other carriage in the avenue just then, 
but several riders were walking their horses slowly 
towards the gate after exercising them on the course. 
The first she met were two civilians, and one of them 
was Oderisio Boccapaduli. He recognised her from a 
distance, and before he was near enough to bow he 


CHAP. X 


MARIA 


159 


glanced quickly behind him, as if he expected to see 
some one. She did not know the other man. Oderisio 
took off his hat, and she smiled and nodded. Then 
came a captain of artillery on a strong Hungarian horse 
that was evidently in a bad temper and hard to manage. 
Maria turned her head to watch them after she had 
passed, but her carriage was going at a smart pace 
and she soon looked before her again. Not far ahead 
were two officers of the Piedmont Lancers, walking 
their horses and talking together. 

One was the same young lieutenant who had jumped 
his English mare in and out of the ring for her benefit 
on that morning when she had been on foot. She 
might have met him there any day. The other was 
Baldassare del Castiglione, and she had not known that 
he was in Rome. 

She was so startled that she made a movement to 
raise her open parasol and hide her face; but she in- 
stantly understood the absurdity of doing such a thing 
and dropped it again, and looked steadily towards the 
advancing horsemen, though for a few seconds she 
could not see them. They were hidden in a fiery mist 
that rose between her and them. It dissolved suddenly, 
and Castiglione was gravely saluting her; his face was 
calm, but his eyes were blazing blue. The young 
lieutenant raised his hand to his cap almost at the 
same instant. With infinite difficulty Maria slowly bent 
her head in answer, but she did not turn her eyes as 
the two men passed her, and in another moment she 
had left them behind. 


160 


A LADY OF ROME 


PAHT I 


Then she felt that her heart was beating again, for 
she was sure that it had quite stopped. But at the 
same instant her hand unconsciously relaxed, and her 
open parasol, which was already half over the step of 
the phaeton, flew out, rolled a httle way, and lay in the 
middle of the road, with the handle upwards. 

She sat up quickly and called to Telemaco to stop. 
But the old man was a little deaf, and she had to call 
twice before he checked the quickly-trotting pair and 
brought them to a stand. 

^My parasol!’ she cried, as the coachman looked 
over his shoulder. ^Give me the reins and get it,’ she 
added. 

She heard the hoofs of a horse cantering up behind 
her, and she looked round. Castiglione must have 
turned in the saddle to look after her, and must have 
seen the parasol fall. It lay with the handle upward, 
and parasol handles chanced to be long that year. It 
was easy for a good rider to bend low and pick the 
thing up almost without slackening his pace, and in 
another moment he was beside the carriage giving it 
back to Maria. 

^ Thank you,’ she said faintly. ^I did not know you 
were in Rome.’ 

A quick word rose to his lips, but he checked it. 
Then he bent down to her from the saddle, on pretence 
of brushing an imaginary fly from his horse’s shoulder. 

^I thought you would rather not know it from me,’ 
he said quietly, but so low that the deaf coachman 
could not hear. ^Good morning, Contessa,’ he added 


CHAP. X 


MARIA 


161 


more loudly, as he straightened himself in the saddle 
and saluted again. 

He was gone, trotting back to join his companion; 
but she would not look after him when she had told 
Telemaco to drive on. And all the way home a great 
wave of joy was surging up round her, to her very feet, 
and she was trying to climb higher lest it should rise 
and overwhelm her; and she was clinging to something 
dark, and cold, and hard as a black marble pillar, that 
was Montalto, and duty, and death, all in one. 

That afternoon a note came for her, brought to the 
door by a trooper and left with the remark that there 
was no answer. 

It contained the telegram Castiglione had received in 
Milan, and a sheet of note-paper on which a few words 
were written in pencil. 

^This explains itself,’ he wrote. Ht is the inevitable. 
I shall not try to see you.’ She knew that she ought to 
be proud of his good faith, but it was not easy. 


M 


CHAPTER XI 


More than a month had passed and it was near the 
end of May ; yet Maria had not again exchanged a word 
with Castiglione. She had seen him twice in the street, 
from a distance, but she was not sure that he had seen 
her the second time. If he saw her, he certainly wished 
her to think that he did not. She never went to the 
Villa Borghese, nor drove towards Tor di Quinto nor 
along the beautiful Monte Parioli avenue, lest she 
should meet him in one of those places where officers 
ride at all hours of the day. On his side, he avoided 
the streets through which she was likely to pass. It 
was easy enough to do that, and as she was in mourning 
he was sure not to find her where people met in the 
houses of mutual acquaintances. 

For he had no intention of shutting himself up, being 
much too sensible not to foresee that if he did so people 
would say he spent his time with her. He showed 
himself in many places, on the contrary, frequented 
Teresa Crescenzi’s drawing-room at tea-time, dined 
assiduously with his cousins the Boccapaduli, at whose 
house the old-fashioned Romans congregated, and also 
with the Campodonicu, and he was often at the Parenzos^ 
pretty house in the Via Ludovisi, which was a favourite 
gathering-place of the political party then in power, 
162 


CHAP. XI 


MARIA 


163 


and of that portion of the diplomatic corps which was 
accredited to the Quirinal and not to the Vatican. The 
Duca di Casalmaggiore had become a friend of Parenzo’s, 
and Castiglione took a good deal of pains to be seen as 
often as possible in society by his colonel, who was of an 
inquisitive turn of mind. In order to make his exist- 
ence still more patent in the eyes of his comrades, he 
lodged with one of them, a man of his own age who was 
also not very well off, and who could hardly help know- 
ing where Baldassare went, what he did, and whether 
he received many notes addressed in feminine hand- 
writing or not. The consequence of all this, and of his 
assiduity in matters of duty, was that Teresa Crescenzi’s 
latest story got little credit, and his brother officers 
said that he was ambitious and was going in for the 
career in earnest. The colonel, who was a widower 
with a son in the navy and a daughter married in 
Naples, and whom Teresa had once vainly tried to 
capture for herself, disliked her and so effectually 
ridiculed her invention that the rest of Castiglione’s 
comrades fell into the way of laughing at her, too ; and 
they said that after having failed to marry the colonel 
she had tried to catch Baldassare, and now meant to 
revenge herself because he would not have her. His 
chum, too, told them that he certainly had no secret 
love affair, and that when he was not on duty or at 
the officers’ club, or where every one could see him, 
he was in his lodgings reading German books on mili- 
tary tactics. Clearly he was going in for the career. 

He did not act or look like a man in love either ; not 


164 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


in the least. He had not been talkative before he left 
the regiment, but since he had returned he took more 
pains than formerly to join in the conversation. Another 
point in his favour was that he never had any vague 
engagement which hindered him from joining in any- 
thing that was unexpectedly proposed. Whatever he 
had to do was open and definite ; when it was not duty, 
it was a real promise to dine with some one whom he 
named, and he took care to have it known that he 
went; or else he had agreed to ride somewhere with an 
acquaintance, and if any one took the trouble to go to 
that place, there he was, sine enough, with the man he 
had named. In what was left of society so late in the 
season, if he once talked especially to any one woman 
he gave himself as much pains to amuse and interest 
another on the morrow. He was such a model of a 
sensible man and such a good officer that the colonel, who 
was rich enough to have afforded the luxury of a poor 
son-in-law, wished he had another daughter that he 
might marry her to Castiglione ; and he said so openly, 
to the great edification of Roman society. 

As for Maria Montalto she did not speak of him again 
to Giuliana, but the latter knew she never let him come 
to the house and that she had made up her mind to 
see him as rarely as possible. Giuliana was too simple 
and natural to care whether this excellent state of 
things was due to her own advice or to Montalto^s 
approaching return. It was enough that Maria was 
doing right and giving the gossips nothing to talk about. 

Parenzo and his wife went to England at this time, 


CHAP. XI 


MARIA 


165 


with the intention of spending three weeks there. The 
Marchese, it was understood, was entrusted with some 
special political business, and as a matter of course he 
took his wife with him; for the first time in her hfe 
Maria was glad to part from her old friend. 

There are ordeals which it is easier to face alone than 
under the eyes of others, even of those we love best; 
there are tortures which are a little easier to bear when 
our dearest friends are not watching our faces to see 
if we shall wince. 

The date of Montalto^s return was approaching, and 
the state apartment in the palace was almost ready, 
thanks to Orlando Schmidt’s quiet energy and to a 
rather lavish expenditure of money. He was a truly 
wonderful young man, Maria thought, for he seemed 
to know everything that was useful and possessed the 
power of making people work without so much as com- 
plaining till they were quite exhausted. He never 
raised his voice, he never spoke roughly to a workman ; 
but he seemed to inspire something like terror and 
abject submission in all whom he employed, and they 
spoke in whispers when he was near and worked till 
they could work no longer. 

Maria went to the apartment twice again, once to 
select the hangings and stuffs for her own rooms out of 
a quantity that had been sent for her approval, and once 
ag ain when the furnishing was almost finished. She 
was quiet and collected, for nothing was left to remind 
her of the old boudoir and the rest. At her second visit 
she was surprised to find that the small room had three 


166 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


doors instead of two as formerly, and she asked 
the steward if the third one was real, or an imitation 
fastened against the solid wall for the sake of sym- 
metry. 

^ It is a real door,’ answered Schmidt. ^It had been 
thinly walled up and plastered over long ago, and I 
found it accidentally, and took the liberty of 
opening it again. I hope your Excellency will ap- 
prove.’ 

^It looks well,’ Maria said, for it helped to change 
the aspect of the room; ‘but where does it take 
one?’ 

‘To the chapel,’ replied the steward. ‘I found a 
narrow passage leading directly to a small door on the 
left side of the altar. You can thus reach the chapel 
by a private way without going through the apartment. 
The corridor was quite dark, but I have had electric 
light put in. The key is here, you see.’ 

Schmidt moved it and opened the door at the same 
time with his other hand, and Maria saw a narrow pas- 
sage, brightly lit up. The walls were white and var- 
nished, and the floor was of plain white tiles. 

‘It must have been made in the beginning of the 
eighteenth century,’ Schmidt said. ‘ There was a 
Countess at that time who was a princess of Saxony 
and was excessively devout. She died mad.’ 

‘You know the family history better than I do,’ 
observed Maria. 

‘We have served the Excellent house from father to 
son more than two hundred years.’ 


CHAP. XI 


MARIA 


167 


Schmidt said this as if he were telling her the most 
ordinary fact in the world. 

^Will your Excellency please go to the chapel by the 
private passage?^ he asked. 

Maria let him lead the way and followed him. She 
was gratified by the use he had made of his discovery, 
for she thought that it would sometimes be a relief to 
go to the chapel alone and unnoticed. But she also 
wished to assure herself that no one else could use the 
corridor, and that there was a bolt or a lock on the door 
at the other end. It was not that she distrusted 
Schmidt ; on the contrary, she thought very well of him, 
and was sure that he had consulted only her convenience 
in what he had done. But when she thought of 
what was before her, she felt very defenceless in the 
great old house, so different from the comfortable 
little modern apartment in which she had lived 
with Leone, where there were no hidden stair- 
cases, nor secret passages, nor legends of mad count- 
esses in the eighteenth century, nor any ghosts of 
Maria’s own life. 

Apparently Schmidt had told her the exact truth 
about the passage, which was much longer than she 
had expected, and turned to the right very soon, and 
was straight beyond that for twenty yards or more. 
Maria guessed that it here followed the long wall of the 
great ball-room, which had no entrances opposite the 
windows. She reached the door of the chapel, and the 
electric light showed her a strong new bolt with a brass 
knob, besides the spring latch. 


168 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


^It is quite private, you see,^ said Schmidt. ^The 
door can be fastened from this side.^ 

'I see. It is very satisfactory. You have thought 
of everything.’ 

He opened the door of the small dim chapel, but she 
would not go in. It had memories for her which she 
was afraid to stir. She remembered how she had once 
gone there alone between midnight and morning with a 
great horror upon her; and how she had knelt down, 
setting her candlestick on the pavement beside her; 
and the dawn had found her there still. She knew 
also that in another week or ten days she would 
have to kneel there at mass on a Sunday; and 
Montalto would be kneeling on one side of her, and 
Leone with his bright blue eyes would be on the 
other. 

^ Thank you,’ she said to the steward. ^I will not go 
into the chapel now.’ 

^Nothing has been changed there,’ he answered. Ht 
has merely been thoroughly cleaned.’ 

Maria remembered the two hideous barocco angels 
in impossible gilt draperies that supported a dreadful 
gilt canopy above the tabernacle; and the absurd 
decorations of the miniature dome; and the detestable 
assemblage of many-coloured marbles; and all the 
details that recalled the atrocious taste introduced 
under the Spanish influence in the south of Italy during 
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. She had 
seen nothing of all that when she had come there alone, 
long after midnight, years ago, with only her one flicker- 


CHAP. XI 


MARIA 


169 


ing candle to light her through the great dark rooms 
and to show her where the altar was. 

thought the Count would not like to have electric 
light in the chapel/ said Schmidt, as he fastened the 
door carefully. ^The key for the lights in the passage 
is here on the wall, your Excellency, just on a level 
with the lock as you come in.’ 

'It is really very well arranged,’ Maria answered, 
and as the passage was not wide enough for two persons 
to pass conveniently, she turned and led the way back. 

'I have had the walls varnished, because almost any 
sort of tinting might rub off on your Excellency’s dress,’ 
said Schmidt. 'The passage is so extremely narrow, 
you see.’ 

'It is very nice,’ Maria answered, 'It was most 
sensible of you.’ 

Behind her, Orlando Schmidt blushed with pleasure 
at her praise, and watched her graceful moving figure, 
shown off against the shining white walls by the close- 
fitting black she wore. They reached the boudoir, 
and there also Schmidt closed and locked the door. 
But this time he took out the key and handed it to 
Maria. 

'As the passage is for your Excellency’s private use, 
you may prefer to take away the key, since the work- 
men have nothing more to do there.’ 

'Thank you,’ Maria answered. 

'The servants need not know that the door is a real 
one,’ observed Schmidt. 

It chanced that Maria did not much fike the maid 


170 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


she had at that time, but as the woman was clever she 
meant to keep her. It struck her that there was cer- 
tainly no reason why she need know that her mistress 
could go from her own rooms to the chapel without 
being seen, if she wished to say her prayers there in 
private. As for the chapel itself, its outer door was 
formerly kept locked, and Montalto had given her a key 
to it when they had been married. The reason for 
keeping it shut was that the altar contained a reliquary 
in which was preserved a comparatively large rehc of 
the Cross, already very long an heirloom in the family. 
No doubt Schmidt knew this, as he seemed to know 
everything else about his hereditary employers — or 
masters, as he would have called them. When one 
family of men has served another faithfully, those who 
serve possess a sort of universal knowledge of such 
details which no ordinary servant could acquire in half 
a lifetime. 

Maria left the boudoir, after putting the key into the 
small new black Morocco bag, which had taken the 
place of the rather shabby grey velvet one she had 
used so long. When she came to live in the palace she 
meant to keep the key in her writing-desk. 

^The Count wishes me to be here when he comes, ^ 
she said as they passed through the great ball-room. 
^He writes that you will engage servants and see to 
everything. Our old butler and coachman have never 
left me. Do you think I may keep them still ? I wish 
to do nothing, however, which does not agree with your 
instructions.' 


CHAP. XI 


MARIA 


171 


^My master’s orders/ said Schmidt, ^are to meet your 
Excellency’s wishes in every respect. He will not even 
bring his own. man with him, and I have orders to 
engage a valet for him. If you will tell me what day 
will be convenient for you to move, I will see that every- 
thing is ready.’ 

‘The Count writes that he will arrive on Sunday 
afternoon,’ Maria answered. ‘I had better be here two 
days before that. I will come on Friday morning.’ 

‘On Friday?’ repeated the steward with a little sur- 
prise. 

‘Yes. Are you superstitious. Signor Orlando?’ 

She really could not call him ‘Signor Schmidt’; it 
was too absurd; yet he was of Italian nationality. 

‘No, your Excellency, I am not. But most people 
are. If the Signora Contessa would be kind enough 
to call me simply Schmidt,’ he added with a little hesi- 
tation, ‘it is an easy name to remember, and does not 
occur in Ariosto’s poem.’ 

She looked at him rather curiously, but she smiled at 
his last words. 

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘As you like.’ 

‘It was my mother,’ he explained, blushing shyly. 
‘ She is very fond of Ariosto, and she insisted on christen- 
ing me Orlando. On Friday next everything will be 
ready to receive your Excellency and the young gentle- 
man. Shall I provide for moving the Signora Contessa’s 
things?’ 

‘I shall be much obliged,’ said Maria, who was glad 
that she was to be spared all trouble. 


172 


A LADY OF ROME 


PAHT I 


She went home feeling as if she were in a painful 
dream, from which she must awake before long. In 
the afternoon, when Agostino was out with Leone and 
the little house was quiet, she went to the telephone 
and asked for the number of the Palazzo Boccapaduli. 
She got it, and was answered by a man-servant. She 
inquired when Castiglione would be at home, but was 
told that he was not staying in the house. It was the 
only address she knew, so she asked where he lived. 
The servant did not know, but would go and find out, 
if she would hold the communication. 

A few moments later the voice that spoke to her was 
Oderisio’s, and he asked with whom he was speaking, 
and on being told, at once inquired if it was she who 
wanted Castiglione’s address. Yes, it was she; did he 
know it ? Yes, he did ; and he gave it. Had Castighone 
a telephone ? No, but he might be at the officers’ club ; 
did she wish the number of that? No, she did not care 
for it. Thank you, and good-bye. 

At first she was a little annoyed that young Boc- 
capaduli should know she wanted Castiglione’s address. 
But presently, as she went back to the sitting-room, it 
struck her that it was just as well. Oderisio would 
understand that she was not seeing Baldassare often, 
since she did not know his address after he had been 
in Rome nearly a month. 

She wrote him a short note, which anybody might 
have read, begging him to come and see her on the 
following Thursday after half-past two. She addressed 
it and stamped it, she put on her hat without calling 


CHAP. XI 


MARIA 


173 


her maid, and she went out to post it in the letter-box 
at the corner of the railway station. 

She was sure of herself, she thought, and she believed 
she had earned the right to receive Castiglione once 
again, because she was bravely resolved never to see 
him alone after she returned to her husband’s house. 
That resolution had formed itself at the instant when 
she had told Leone that Montalto was coming back, and 
she had not wavered in it since, in spite of what she had 
felt when he had brought her the fallen parasol in the 
Villa. The greatest and most enduring resolutions in 
life are rarely made after mature consideration, still 
less at those times of spiritual exaltation which are too 
often self-suggested, and sought for the sake of a half- 
sensuous, half-mysterious agitation of the nerves that 
is far from healthy. People who are not morbid and 
are in great trouble generally see the right course rather 
suddenly and unexpectedly; if they are good they 
follow it, if they are bad they do not, but if they attempt 
a careful and subtle examination of conscience they 
often come to grief. It is hopeless to analyse processes 
in which conscience and mind are involved together 
until we can find a constant coefficient for humanity’s 
ever- varying strength and weakness. 

During more than a month Maria had acted and 
thought under the domination of one idea; she had 
need of strength, but she had not felt the want of 
advice or help. She knew better than the harsh old 
Capuchin, better even than Monsignor Saracinesca, 
what she must do, and as for help, no hving man or 


174 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART 1 


woman could have given her any, imless it were Cas- 
tiglione himself. She had accepted what was laid 
upon her, and when she went at early morning to kneel 
at the altar rail in the small oratory, she prayed for 
strength and for nothing else. 

So far it had come to her and had borne her through 
more than any one who knew her could have guessed; 
and when she sent for Castiglione, to see him once more 
and for the last time, she was far from thinking that 
she did so from any weakness. It seemed only just, 
for no man could have acted more honourably and 
courageously than he, and he had a right to know from 
her own lips what she meant to do. 

He came, knowing what was before him, and mean- 
ing to do what he could to spare her all pain and useless 
emotion. More and more often now he called her a 
saint in his thoughts, and his love for her was sometimes 
very like veneration. 

She had taken care that Leone should not be in the 
house that afternoon, not because she had any thought 
of concealing Castiglione's visit from the child, but out 
of consideration for the man himself. She knew only 
too well what he felt when he saw the boy’s blue eyes 
and his short and thick brown hair. 

He came in civilian’s dress, lest his brilliant uniform 
should attract attention from a distance as he entered 
the house where she lived. His hand met hers quietly 
and the two lovers looked into each other’s earnest 
eyes. By a common impulse they sat down in the 
places they had generally taken when they had met in 


CHAP. XI 


MARIA 


175 


the same room before, on opposite sides of the empty 
fireplace. 

know why you have sent for me,’ began Baldassare, 
very gently. 'May I try to tell you? It may be a 
little easier.’ 

Maria did not attempt to speak for a few moments, 
and he waited. 

'No,’ she said at last, quite steadily. 'You could 
not tell me just what I have to say to you. I asked 
you to come because you have been so very brave, so 
very generous ’ 

She choked a little, but recovered herself quickly. 

'It is only just that I should tell you so before we 
say good-bye,’ she went on. 'I knew I could trust 
you — but oh, I did not know how much ! ’ 

'I have only tried to do my duty,’ he answered. 

'You have done it like the brave man you are,’ said 
Maria. 

'Please ’ he spoke to interrupt her. 

'Yes,’ she went on, not heeding him. 'We may not 
meet again, we two, alone like this. One of us may die 
before that is possible. So I shall say all that is in my 
thoughts, if I can. You most know all, you must 
understand all, even if it hurts very much. My husband 
is going to take me back altogether ; he has forgiven 
me; he asks me to be his wife again. Can I refuse ?’ 

She had not meant to put the question to him, and 
he knew that she expected no answer. Her tone 
showed that. But he would not let her think that in 
his heart he rebelled against the knife. 


176 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


^No/ he said very slowly. would not have you 
refuse what he asks. It would be neither right nor 
just.' 

In spite of the almost intolerable pain she was suffer- 
ing, a glow of wonder rose in her eyes ; and there was no 
shadow of doubt to dim it. At his worst, in the old 
days, he had always told the truth. 

^ God bless you for that ! ' she cried suddenly, and then 
her voice dropped low. ^You have travelled far on 
the good road since we last talked together,' she said. 
^Further than I.' 

He shook his head gravely. 

‘No,' he answered. ‘You have led me, and I have 
followed.' 

‘We have journeyed together,' she said, ‘though we 
have been apart. We may be separated, as we must 
be now, to the end, but we cannot be divided any more. 
I wanted to tell you something else too, this last time, 
and you have made it easy to say it, and altogether 
right. It is this. I do not take back one word of what 
I said to you and wrote to you before I knew Montalto 
was coming home. I do not want you to think that I 
have changed my mind, or that the hfe we were going 
to lead seems to me now one little bit less good and 
true and honourable than it seemed to me that first 
time we talked together here.' 

‘Do you think I doubted you for a moment?' 

‘You might. But it is only that other things have 
changed. We have not, and I know we never shall, 
and in the end we are to meet where there is peace, and 


CHAP. XI 


MARIA 


177 


somehow it will be right then, and we shall all three 
understand that it is. Can you believe that too?’ 

wish to. I shall try to. If anything could make 
a man believe in God, it is the love of such a woman 
as you are.’ 

^You have my love,’ Maria answered. ^And some 
day you will believe as I do, but in your own way, and 
we shall be together where there are no partings. Yes, 
I am sure that we could have hved as we meant to, and 
could have helped each other to rise higher and higher, 
far above these dying bodies of ours. But we shall 
reach the good end more quickly by our suffering than 
we ever could by our happiness.’ 

^That may be,’ said Castiglione, ^but one thing is 
far more certain : we must part now, cost what it may.’ 

^Cost what it may!’ She pressed her hands to her 
eyes and was silent a httle while. 

^ Has he spoken of Leone in his letters ? ’ Castiglione 
asked after a time, in a tone that was almost timid. 

Maria dropped her hands upon her knees at once 
and met his look. 

^Not to me,’ she answered. ^But he gave orders 
about the child’s room to the steward he sent from 
Montalto. Everything was to be arranged for Leone 
just as I wished. That was all.’ 

^Will he be kind to the boy, do you think?’ asked 
Castiglione, very low. 

H know he will try to be,’ Maria answered generously. 

That was her greatest cause for fear in the future; 
it was the stumbling-block she saw in the way of Mont- 


178 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


alto’s wish to take her back; but although he might 
treat the boy coldly, and avoid seeing him, and insist 
that he should be sent away to a school as soon as he 
was old enough, she believed that her husband would 
be just, and she was sure she should leave him if he 
were not. There was one sacrifice which should not be 
exacted of her: she would not tamely submit to see 
her child ill-treated. At that she would rebel, and she 
would be dangerous for any man to face. 

^ Yes,’ she repeated, know he will try to be kind.’ 

Castighone merely nodded and said nothing, but 
Maria saw his looks ; and she was not all a saint yet, for 
with the sight came the thrill of fierce elemental mother- 
hood, rejoicing in the strength of the man who could 
kill. There was nothing very saintly about that, and 
she knew it. 

^We must not think of such things,’ she said, as she 
felt the deep vibrations grow faint and die away. ^Let 
us take it for granted that my husband will be very 
just. That is all I have a right to ask of him.’ 

Again Castiglione bent his head in assent. Then 
both were silent for a long time. 

^ Am I never to know anything of your fife after this ?’ 
he asked suddenly. 

^You will know what every one may know,’ she said. 

^Nothing more? Only to hear that you are ill or 
well? Never to be told whether he really does what he 
can to make it bearable for you ? May I not have news 
of you sometimes? Through Giuliana Parenzo, for 
instance ? Is it to be always outer darkness ? ’ 


CHAP. XI 


MARIA 


179 


‘Giuliana will know what you all will know, and no 
more,’ Maria answered. Mf I must not tell you what 
I suffer, do you think I would tell her ? I shall not tell 
myself!^ There was one bitter note in that phrase. 
^You will always know something that no one else can,^ 
she went on, and her voice softened. ^And so shall I, 
and that must be enough for us. Is it so little?^ 

'Ah, no ! It is all of us two that really hves 

She heard the deeper tone of rising passion not far 
away, and she interrupted him. 

'It is all I shall have for the rest of my life,^ she said, 
and she rose suddenly and held out her hand, meaning 
that it was time to part. 

'Already?’ he asked, not leaving his seat yet, and 
looking up beseechingly. 

'Yes,’ she said. 'You must not stay. We have told 
each other what had to be said, and to say more would 
not be right. Less would not have been just to you.’ 

He also had risen now and stood before her, meaning 
to be as brave as she, cost what it might. 

'We are only human,’ she went on, 'only a man and a 
woman alone together, and if I let you stay longer this 
one last time, there may be some word, some look, 
between us that we shall regret. Though Diego is not 
here yet, I became his wife again in real truth on the 
day I accepted his forgiveness ; and as his wife, no word 
to you shall pass my lips that he might not hear. We 
have tried to do right, you and I ; if we have not failed 
altogether, God help us to do better ! If we did wrong 
in those few sweet days, then God pardon us ! I thank 


180 


A LADY OF ROME 


PABT I 


you from my soul for being brave and true when you 
might have dragged me down. For the past we have 
forgiven each other, as we hope to be forgiven. And 
so good-bye. I would bless you, if I dared; I can ask 
a blescing for you, and it will come ; I am sure it will. 
If I die first, I shall wait for you somewhere, and you 
will come. If you are taken before me, wait for me! 
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye!^ 

Her voice was sweet and steady to the very end, 
but when he took her hand at last it was cold, and it 
quivered in his. He began to hft it to his lips, but it 
resisted him gently, and he obeyed its resistance. 
'Good-bye,^ he said, as well as he could. 

But she hardly heard the syllables; and then, in a 
moment, he was gone. 


CHAPTER XII' 


The day had come, and Maria was waiting alone for 
her husband in one of the great rooms of the Palazzo 
Montalto. She had told Leone that she would send 
for him when he was wanted, and he was thoughtfully 
consoling himself for not being allowed to stay with her 
by pohshing the barrel of his tin rifle with his tooth- 
brush and tooth powder, and he had the double satisfac- 
tion of seeing the gun shine beautifully and of making 
the hated instrument useless for its proper purpose. 
And meanwhile he wondered what his papa would be 
hke, and whether he should always hate him. 

But Maria walked restlessly up and down the drawing- 
room, and her head felt a httle hght. Now and then 
she stopped near one of the open windows and hstened 
for the sound of wheels below and looked at her watch ; 
and when she saw that it was still early, she breathed 
more freely at first and sat down, trying to rest and 
collect herself; but it was hke thinking of resting ten 
minutes before execution, and she rose almost directly 
and began to walk again. 

In her deep mourning she looked smaller and slighter 
in the great room than in the simpler surroundings she 
had left. She had indeed grown a little thinner of 
late, but she was not ill, nor even as tired as she had 
181 


182 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


expected to be at the crucial moment. The people 
who feel most are not those whose nerves go to pieces in 
trouble, and who get absolute rest then by the doctor's 
orders; they are more often those who are condemned 
to bear much, for the very reason that they cannot 
break down. In the age of torture the weak fainted or 
died and felt no more, but the strong were conscious 
and suffered to the end, and that was very long in 
coming. Yet no one ever pities the strong people. 

Leone had told his mother that the white patch in 
her hair near her left temple had grown so much larger 
of late that three of his fingers only just covered it, 
and he had kindly offered to ink it for her; and she 
was somewhat thinner and a little paler than she had 
been a month earlier. But that was all there was to 
show that she had hved through weeks of distress. 
Montalto would scarcely notice the white lock at first, 
and her figure looked a shade more perfect for being 
slighter. She had never been a beauty, but she had 
more grace and charm than ever, and she was only 
seven-and- twenty. Giuliana Parenzo was much hand- 
somer, but few men would have hesitated between her 
and Maria, who had that nameless something in every 
easy movement, in every lingering smile, in each soft 
tone of her warm voice, that wakes the man in men, as 
early spring stirs the life in the earth, deep down and 
out of sight. She did not understand what she had, 
and for years she had lived so much away from the 
lighter side of her own world that she had almost for- 
gotten how the men used to gather round her and crowd 


CHAP, xn 


MARIA 


183 


upon each other instinctively to come nearer to her in 
the first year of her marriage, as they never did for 
Giuliana. She used to notice it then, and she had a 
laugh and a quick answer for each that showed no 
preference for any, and maddened them all till they 
were almost ready to quarrel with each other; but she 
had been very young then, and she had not under- 
stood, till one more reckless than the rest, the very one 
she trusted too much because she loved him only and 
too well, had laid waste for ever her fair young being, 
half-wrecked his own life, and broken the heart of an 
honest man. 

And this honest man had forgiven her, for love of her ; 
he too, and he more than any, had felt that her smile, 
and her breath, and her touch could drive him mad; 
and now that he was coming back, the minutes were 
passing quickly — a very few were left — still fewer — 
the last but one — the very last, as she heard his car- 
riage roll in through the great arched entrance almost 
directly under her feet. 

The doors were open beyond the drawing-room 
towards the ante-chamber; one door only was shut 
between that and the outer hall where the butler and 
footmen in deep mourning were waiting for their master. 

She heard it opened, a once familiar voice asked in a 
formal tone where she was, and a servant answered. 
Then came the well-remembered step. In the painful 
tension of her hearing she heard it far away, even on 
the soft carpet, more clearly than she had ever heard 
it on tiled floor or marble pavement. 


184 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


She steadied herself for a moment against the corner 
of a heavy table; and then the drawing-room door, 
which had been open, was shut, and Montalto was in 
the room, grey and hollow-eyed, coming towards her 
with thin hands outstretched in greeting. By a miracle 
of strength she went forward and met them with her 
own ; met his eyes, and let him kiss her. She sank into 
a chair then, and he was close beside her, trying to speak 
in his old formal way, though he could hardly control 
his voice. 

He seemed dreadfully changed, and when she saw 
him clearly a sharp pang of pity wrung her heart. His 
hair and pointed beard were quite grey, his colourless 
cheeks were painfully thin, and his hollow eyes burned 
with a feverish fire; he stopped speaking suddenly, in 
the middle of a sentence, as if he were paralysed, and 
his hps were parched, but his burning gaze did not waver 
from her face. She was a httle frightened. 

^ You are ill ! ’ she cried. ‘ Let me get you something ! ^ 

She half rose, but his thin hand caught her and held 
her back. 

^No,’ he said hoarsely, ‘1 am not ill. It is only that 
— that I have not — seen you — for so long ! ’ 

The words came in gasps ; the last ones broke out in a 
frantic sob. She was moved, and willing to be touched, 
and though she had felt the old physical repulsion for 
him again the instant he came near her, she took one 
of his hands now and held it on her knees and stroked 
it kindly. 

^ Diego ! ^ 


CHAP, xn 


MARIA 


185 


She did not know what to say, so she pronounced his 
name as softly and as affectionately as she could. But 
she had not spoken yet, and at the sound of her sweet 
voice the man broke down completely. 

^ Oh, Maria, Maria ! ’ he moaned, drawing her hand to 
his chest and rocking himself a little. ^It was all a 
dreadful dream — and I have got you back again — 
Maria ’ 

The over-strained, over-wrenched nerves gave way 
and he broke into a flood of tears ; the drops ran down 
the furrows of his thin cheeks and his grey beard and 
wet her hand as he pressed passionate kisses upon it, 
rocking himself over it and sobbing convulsively. 

Maria had hved through a good deal of suffering and 
some moments that now seemed too horrible to have 
been real, but she had never had any emotion forced 
upon her from without that had been harder to bear 
calmly than what she felt now. 

If anything could strengthen the physical repulsion 
that made her shrink from her husband^s touch it was 
the sight of his unmanly tears and the sound of his 
hysterical sobbing. If anything could make it more 
difficult to hide her loathing it was the knowledge that 
she had wronged him and that she owed him gratitude 
for his free forgiveness. She would much rather have 
had him turn upon her like a maniac and strike her than 
be obliged to watch the painful heaving of his thin, 
bent shoulders, and feel the hot tears that ran down 
upon her hands. 

It was so unutterably disgusting that she felt a terribly 


186 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


strong impulse to throw him off, to scream out that she 
would not take his forgiveness at any price, that he 
must let her go back and lead her own hfe with her 
child, as she had lived for so many years. He would 
suffer a little more, but what was a little more or less 
to a man who seemed half mad ? 

Then the wave of pity rushed back, and that was even 
worse. It was the pity a delicate woman feels for some 
wretched hving thing half killed in an accident, so 
crushed and torn that the mere thought of touching 
it makes her shrink back and shiver to her very feet 
because the suffering creature is not her own. If it 
were hers but ever so little, if it were her dog, she would 
feel nothing but the instant womanly need of saving it 
if she could, of helping it to die easily if she could not. 

Maria’s hand shrank from the scalding tears and 
writhed under the man’s frantic kisses. She shut her 
eyes and threw back her head; her face was drawn and 
white, and she prayed as she had never prayed in her 
life, for strength to bear all that was before her. 

It had seemed just possible, because she had imposed 
it upon herself as her honourable duty, and because 
the husband she remembered had bjeen before all things 
proud, and as full of a certain exaggerated dignity and 
self-respect as Spaniards sometimes are, though he was 
only half-Spanish. She had felt him coming back to 
her from far away, like a dark instrument of fate, to 
which she must give herself up body and mind, if she 
hoped to expiate her sin to the end. It had seemed 
hard, even dreadfully hard ; but this was worse. Instead 


CHAP. XII 


MARIA 


187 


of the erect and formal figure and the grave dark 
face that had a certain strength in it which she could 
at least respect — instead of that, it was a broken- 
down man who came to her, prematurely old, a neuras- 
thenic invalid no better than a hysterical woman, palsied 
with unmanly emotion, lacking all strength, self-respect 
and dignity, and without even a rag of vanity that 
might have passed for pride. 

She was not stronger in her hands than other women, 
but she was sure that it would be easy to throw him 
from her; he would fall in a heap on the carpet, and 
would fie there helpless and sobbing. As she felt the 
instant contempt for his weakness, she prayed the 
more for courage to humble her own strength to it; 
and her eyes were still shut tight and her face was 
white and drawn. This was but the beginning of what 
must last for years, ten, twenty, as long as he lived, or 
until she died of it. 

The future stretched out before her in length with- 
out end; she forgot everything else, and did not know 
that the tears ceased to flow and presently dried, nor 
that Montalto drew back from her into his own chair 
as the storm subsided within him. His voice woke her 
from the dream of pain to come. 

trust you will forgive my first emotion, my dear,’ 
he said with all his characteristic formality. see 
that I have made a painful impression on you. I shall 
not allow it to occur again.’ 

It was such a quick relief to see him more like 
himself, that she had almost a sensation of pleasure, 


188 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


and she smiled faintly while she tried to say some- 
thing. 

^No — please — I^m so sorry ’ 

She could find no connected sentence. He rose and 
began to walk up and down before her, making half a 
dozen steps each way, a shadowy figure in black, pass- 
ing and repassing before her. 

believe that I have made everything clear in my 
letters,’ he said, and then he glanced at her from time 
to time without pausing in his walk while he talked. 

shall not repeat anything I have written, but there 
are one or two other matters of which I must speak to 
you before we begin fife again together, Maria. They 
need not be mentioned more than once either. It is 
better to be done with everything which may be in the 
least painful to you as soon as possible.’ 

In spite of the formal manner, there were kind in- 
flections in his tone. It seemed marvellous that he 
should have recovered himself so soon, and it was only 
possible because such exhibitions of weakness were not 
really natural to him. Maria had felt relieved as soon 
as he had begun to talk quietly, and when he left his 
seat, her physical repugnance to him began to subside 
within its old limits. But at the same time she felt a 
vague fear that he was going to speak of Leone. 

^ You have shown remarkable tact, my dear,’ he went 
on, ^and you will have no difficulty in making your 
friends understand that our long separation has been 
principally due to my mother’s condition, and that 
since she is gone’ — his voice sank a fittle — ^ we have 


CHAP. XII 


MARIA 


189 


resumed our married life. This will be easy, no doubt.' 
May I ask, without indiscretion, who your most inti- 
mate friends are?’ 

^Giuliana Parenzo is my only intimate friend,’ Maria 
answered at once. 

‘I am glad of that,’ said Montalto, approving. 'She 
is a thoroughly nice woman in all ways, and everybody 
respects her. Are there any others whom you see 
often?’ 

'I have dined a good many times with the Campo- 
donico and the Saracinesca and the Boccapaduli — 
sometimes with the Trasmondo. I have never gone to 
balls. On the whole, I have tried to be on friendly 
terms with most of the people who have children of 
Leone’s age.’ 

She had boldly brought forward the question which 
she thought he meant to reach, and she waited for his 
reply. But he would not take it up. 

'Leone,’ he repeated, in a musing tone. 'Friends for 
Leone. Yes, yes — that was quite right. I will see 
him by and by.’ 

'He is waiting to be called,’ said Maria quickly, for 
she was anxious to get over the difficult moment as 
soon as possible. 

'Presently,’ answered Montalto. 'I have one or two 
things to say while we are alone. First, as to your 
friends, I wish you to understand that even if there are 
some whom I do not know, they shall all be welcome 
here. They will be the more welcome because they 
stood by my wife when she was in trouble.’ 


190 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


• He put a little emphasis on the words, his figure had 
straightened and he held his head high. She under- 
stood the great generosity of what he said. 

^ Thank you, Diego,^ she said in a low voice. ‘You 
are very good.’ 

‘There is only one person who shall not come here,’ 
he continued, in a tone that was suddenly hard. 

Maria almost started, but controlled herself; he could 
only mean Castiglione. 

‘Who is it?’ she asked, as steadily as she could. 

‘ Teresa Crescenzi,’ answered Montalto, turning rather 
sharply. ‘I beg you never to receive her. She spoke 
against my mother, and I will not have her in the house.’ 

Maria actually laughed, though a little nervously. 

‘She is no friend of mine,’ she said. ‘I do not care 
to see her.’ 

‘ You need not quarrel with her, my dear, if you meet. 
I shall take the responsibility on myself, and I shall be 
careful to let her know that it is I who forbid her my 
house.’ 

He was not a short man, and when he drew himself 
up he looked tall. Maria no longer felt that she could 
throw him to the floor if he took her hand. 

‘I have not many real friends here now,’ he said, 
more gently. ‘One whom I especially esteem is Mon- 
signor Saracinesca. Do you ever see him?’ 

‘I saw him not long ago, and I sometimes meet him 
at his father’s house. We are on good terms.’ 

‘That is very pleasant,’ Montalto answered. ‘I shall 
often ask him here, if you do not object.’ 


CHAP. XII 


MARIA 


191 


shall always be glad to see him/ returned Maria. 
^ But, please, Diego, do not consult me about such things. 
I am very deeply conscious of your generosity in all 
ways, and this house is yours, not mine.^ 

^It is ours,’ said Montalto, ^except for Teresa Cres- 
cenzi. I do not wish you to think of it in any other 
way. And that brings me to the last point. May I 
inquire whether you have found yourself in any — 
how shall I say? — in any financial straits in which 
my fortune can be of service to you ? ’ 

You may judge a man of the world’s wisdom by the 
sort of wife he chooses, but the test of a gentleman is the 
way he treats his wife. Maria was profoundly touched 
by her husband’s question. She rose from her seat 
and went close to him, overcoming her repulsion easily 
for the moment as she took his hand and spoke. 

^No, I have made no debts. But I have no words to 
thank you for your kindness. I shall try to deserve it.’ 

‘It is only what I owe to my wife,’ Montalto answered, 
and he bent over her hand with as much ceremony as 
if there had been twenty people in the room. 

‘I have something to tell you, too,’ she said. ‘You 
ought to know it. Baldassare del Castiglione has come 
back to Rome. We have met alone, and we have 
agreed never to see each other again — except as we 
may chance to find ourselves in a friend’s house at the 
same time.’ 

Montalto could not help dropping her hand as soon 
as she pronounced Castighone’s name, but his face 
changed little. • 


192 


A LADY OF ROME 


PAST I 


^ I daresay you were wise to see him once/ he replied, 
a trifle coldly. ^ We need not refer to him again.^ 

She could not have expected more than that, but 
when he had answered she was a flttle sorry that she 
had spoken at all. He would willingly have trusted 
her without that explanation. 

With an evident wish to change the subject, he began 
to ask questions about the apartment, inquiring how 
she liked it, and whether she had found Schmidt efficient 
in carrying out her wishes. 

Wery,’ she answered to the last question. ^ He is a 
wonderful man.^ 

^Yes,’ Montalto assented coldly, 'in some ways he is 
an extraordinary young man.' 

There was something more reserved in the tone than 
in the words, but Maria was very far from being intimate 
enough with her husband yet to ask whether Schmidt 
had any fault or weakness that justified his master's 
evident doubts about him. She wondered what the 
trouble might be. 

'Shall we go and see Leone now?' Montalto suggested. 
' On the way you can show me what you have done to 
the house. You have not ruined me in furniture,' he 
added with a smile, as he looked round the rather empty 
drawing-room. 

'I left as much as possible to you,' Maria an- 
swered. 

She was thinking of Leone, and she already saw be- 
fore her the sturdy little blue-eyed boy with his thick 
and short brown hair. They went on through the house 


CHAP, xn 


MARIA 


193 


to the door of Maria’s boudoir, at the end of the great 
ball-room. 

^ That is where I have installed myself,’ she said, point- 
ing to it and turning to the left, towards the masked 
door that led to the living rooms in the other wing. 

‘Yes, I remember,’ answered Montalto. ‘And this 
is your dressing-room, I suppose,’ he added as they 
walked on. ‘And this used to be your bedroom.’ 

‘Yes,’ said Maria steadily. ‘That is the door of my 
bedroom.’ 

Leone’s was the next, and in a moment they were 
standing in a flood of afternoon hght, and Maria bent 
down and kissed the small boy’s hair because he would 
not turn up his cheek to her, being very intent on ex- 
amining Montalto’s face. But Maria dared not look 
at her husband just then. 

‘Here we are at last, dear,’ she said as well as she 
could, still bending over him. 

To some extent she could trust the child’s manners, 
for she had brought him up herself, but her heart beat 
fast during the little silence before Montalto spoke, and 
she wondered what his tone would be much more than 
what he was going to say, for she felt sure that the words 
would not be unkind. 

Montalto held out his hand, and Leone took it slowly. 
He had never been kissed by a man, and did not imagine 
that his newly-introduced papa could be expected to 
kiss him. This was fortunate, for Montalto had not 
the least intention of doing so. 

‘Can you ride yet?’ he asked, with a smile. 


194 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART 1 


^No/ Leone answered, but his face changed instantly. 
^Not yet.’ 

will teach you, my boy, and as soon as you can 
trot and gallop nicely you shall have a good horse of 
your own.’ 

Leone flushed with pleasure, a healthy red that was 
good to see. 

^ Oh, how splendid ! ’ he cried, and his blue eyes lit up 
with happiness. ^Really, really?’ 

‘Yes, really.’ 

‘When shall I begin?’ 

‘To-morrow morning.’ 

‘Hurrah!’ yelled the small boy. ‘At last!’ 

Maria could have cried out too, or laughed, or burst 
into tears from sheer rehef. Montalto had uncon- 
sciously received one of those happy inspirations which 
turn the mingling currents of meeting hves ; and Leone 
was already astride of a stick, prancing round the room 
on an imaginary horse, shouting out the tune of the 
Italian royal march and sabring the air to right and 
left with the first thing he happened to pick up. It 
chanced to be the tooth-brush with which he had been 
polishing his tin gun. 

Montalto looked pleased, and Leone pranced towards 
him on the stick and pretended to rein in a fiery steed 
before his papa, saluting with the tooth-brush sabre in 
correct cavalry fashion. 

‘Viva Papa ! ’ he bawled. ‘Viva Papa ! ’ 

Montalto, who rarely smiled, could not help laughing 
now. Maria could hardly beheve her senses, for she 


CHAP, xn 


MARIA 


195 


had dreaded most of all moments the one in which the 
two were to meet. But now her husband suddenly 
looked younger. He was thin, indeed, to the verge of 
emaciation, his hands were shrunken and transparent, 
his beard was quite grey, his eyes were hollow; but 
there was no feverish fire in them, his face was not 
colourless, and there was fife in his movements. Maria 
wondered whether it were humanly possible that he 
should not only be kind to her child but should actually 
hke him, and perhaps love him some day. 

At all events what had happened had made it easier 
for her than she had dared to expect, and though 
nothing could efface the painful impression of her meet- 
ing with him, what had now taken place certainly made 
a great difference. 

During dinner he talked quietly about Rome and poli- 
tics and old friends, and if she saw his eyes fixed upon 
her now and then with an expression that made her 
nervous, there was still the broad table between them, 
and he looked away almost directly. 

Afterwards he smoked Spanish cigarettes, taking 
them to pieces and rolling them again in thin French 
paper, and he went on talking ; but as the hour advanced 
he said less and less, and his cigarette went out very 
often, till at last he rose, saying that it was late, and 
he kissed her hand ceremoniously and left her. 

^Good-night,’ she said, just before he disappeared 
through the door. 

He bent his head a little but did not answer. 

An horn later she had dismissed her maid and sat m 


196 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART I 


a small easy-chair in her boudoir under a shaded light; 
she was trying to read, in the hope of growing sleepy. 
She wore a thin silk dressing-gown, wide open at the 
throat and showing a little simple white lace; her dark 
hair was taken up in a loose knot rather low down at the 
back of her neck, as she had always done it at bedtime 
ever since she had been a young girl. Her bare feet 
were half hidden in a pair of rather shabby httle grey 
velvet slippers without heel or heel-piece, for the spring 
night was warm. She was trjdng to read. 

She thought some one knocked softly at the door; 
she started in her chair and dropped the book, while 
her hand went up to her throat to gather the silk folds 
and hide the lace underneath. She could not speak. 

Another knock, quite distinct this time, and followed 
by a question in her husband's voice. 

^May I come in?' 

An instant's pause, and she closed her eyes to say 
two words. 

^Come in.' 


PART II 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 










tv 






[/ill 


<‘V 


ft . ‘ '.' 


f'*/. tv 




s? 




Al' 






y/ 




m< 




'•A^ 


m'’ *« W/ 

m 




I 


(•Y 


y«r » > 


■ ViK 

'/•■'j'“V'tiA-, ' -'A''' 


-M 




.-•y 


i?] 


I •■' 


i VSV ‘ 


.1 « • » ’■ ' '1 

4vte 

li-.i V'S Vv. •; . , ;. .« 


mr 


}(\ 


«« *'i. 


.A . ,^ 


i''. '.} . , 


*'i 


A\H 


'f * > 


>‘W 



111! 




ill 






‘.'Vv 4 .1 












%.-tv 


IVAV '^Vf' 




' 'V • Y 'A ’ 

if 'A 1> A/’ ^ Aw r* 


if 


{' * 


■ ' 4 » 

t t 


t- 



’ ' f < 

* ■• ‘il 

, > \ y4 \ I 

> ♦ 


-I- ■ . ‘ '. ', ■•> ^i''V .. 

> ■ • ''I ^ • 1 ' ■ c I 



Mk : ' ..;,^>f \3l 

Tiii'A^AV r ‘ 4**'f‘* 


'I 


» .?>! 




y/! 


yt] 


i*. t :■' ' 




«SJ' 




W: 


''4 ‘ aV/mU ♦•m' ' ^ liv >* *»!-’ 

.I'v- 


^ 







v; 




j I ' *. < ^1 


V -". 






.K* 


i 


n 




A 


II 


#. r • 




'®HJ: 


'» 7>T, 


% 


6\ 


i« 




> , • 


1 




. f' 


■ I* < 


>* < 


j't: 





A-* 


1 


r! t 


1 . I > 


ViSi' 


■■4 


. i ' v'.' 


IF. 


.W:y 


i «'-• ’■ i •' ■>,’ V ^ 

* 'V .j 


’ ^ ' A/ Ti . f 


■A P > 1 


» 'j •». 


Av , ''‘j 

, •, '-’‘AX 






If 




•C.7 


I 78 K 




-rffU 


■ A( iv . :'■:■' •villi’ ■■ ■v-’v.''' 

n^t|Mipi|B|UI»IW^f ; . 'A ' ', '.A/Vv 'V-.. '■. 

ftriBnw^-.rEy^tujuir*. 'j ^,'i ' - ' .; . f * <' '■ 




r.-r^- i-.-.., . - / '/V A'-'' ''■ 

'• “ '-'Ar ^y' ■ 


.\ C ^r ^N» 








CHAPTER XIII 


The Romans approved of Montalto’s return. The 
reason why any civilised society continues to exist 
is that the majority of decent people look upon marriage 
seriously, and consider it as a permanent bond, spiritual 
or legal, or both. In such conservative countries as ad- 
mit divorce, the respectable part of society looks upon 
it as a last resource in extreme cases, and no sensible citi- 
zen should regard it as anything else. When it has taken 
place, the society to which the two divorced persons 
belong decides which of them was in the right, and that 
one is received as cordially as ever ; the other is treated 
coldly, and is sometimes turned out. 

But there is no divorce law in Italy, and a civil mar- 
riage is as indissoluble in the eyes of the Itahan state 
as a religious one is under the rules of the Catholic 
Church. There is such a thing as separation by law, 
but it gives neither party a right to marry again ; it 
concerns the administration of property and the guar- 
dianship of children, but nothing else, and the parties 
may agree to unite again without any further ceremony. 

Maria and her husband had never gone through the 
form of being legally separated, though they had taken 
towards each other the relative positions of separated 
husband and wife. Marians sufficient independent for- 
199 


200 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


tune enabled her to decline any subsidy from Montalto, 
and she had quitted his house after he left her ; she had 
also kept the child. The two had voluntarily placed 
themselves where the law would probably have placed 
them, and society had been grateful to Montalto for hav- 
ing avoided the open scandal of any legal procedure 
against his wife; the more so, as it had chosen to take 
Maria’s side, on the principle that absent friends are 
always in the wrong. 

But society was very glad to consider both Montalto 
and his wife in the right, now that he had come back 
quietly, at the very end of a season; and no objections 
were raised against the perfectly innocent fiction of his 
having stayed away from Rome many years to take care 
of his mother. It was a satisfaction to see such an im- 
portant couple reconciled again and hving peaceably 
together; everybody had something to repent of in fife, 
and most people had something to conceal; Maria had 
repented and Montalto had covered up the spot on his 
honour, with as much tact and dignity as were respec- 
tively consistent with a stained escutcheon and a con- 
trite heart; and it was really much more proper that 
Maria di Montalto, whose husband was an authentic 
Count of the Empire, should five in the great palace, 
instead of in a httle apartment in the Via San Martino, 
and should drive in a big carriage behind a pair of huge 
black horses, in the shadow of tremendously imposing 
mourning liveries, than go about in a small phaeton 
drawn by a pair of hired nags, or even in a little brougham 
with one horse and no footman at all, as she had some- 


CHAP, xni 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


201 


times been seen to do; it was much more proper and 
appropriate. Why should any one make a fuss because 
a small boy called Leone Silani di Montalto had blue 
eyes instead of brown or black ones ? Was it admissible 
that not one of the Montalto ancestors, since the First 
Crusade, should have had blue eyes, to account for 
Leone's? Was nature to be allowed no latitude in such 
httle matters ? And so forth ; and so on ; and more to 
the same effect, and to the credit of Diego, Maria, and 
Leone di Montalto, happily reunited in their own home. 
These things were said without a smile by such excellent 
elderly people as the Princess Campodonico and the 
Duchess of Trasmondo, the good and beautiful old Prin- 
cess Saracinesca, the whole Boccapaduh family, and all 
the secondary social luminaries which reflect the hght 
of the great fixed ones round which they revolve. There 
had been a conspicuous gap at the banquet of the Roman 
Olympians for years; it was once more filled by those 
who had a right to it, and everything was for the best 
in the best of all possible worlds, as Candide's tutor was 
the first to observe. So far as the Montalto family 
was concerned, the truth of the assertion was amply 
proved by the fact that Montalto himself was teaching 
Leone to ride, in the Villa Borghese. Three or four times 
a week you might meet him there in the early morning 
hours on a wonderful Andalusian mare he had brought 
from Spain, with the boy at his side, red in the face, 
fearless, and perfectly happy on a pony with a leading 
rein. 

Castiglione saw them once from a distance, coming 


202 


A LADY OF HOME 


PABT II 


towards him, but he jumped his horse over the stiff fence 
into the meadow, crossed quickly, and was over into the 
ring again on the other side and out of the Villa by Porta 
Pinciana before the pair recognised him, for Montalto was 
rather near-sighted and Leone was so much interested 
in his lesson that even the uniform of the Piedmont Lan- 
cers no longer had great attractions for him. After 
that Castiglione gave up exercising his horses in the 
vnia. 

The fact of riding a real animal, that could move its 
tail, had destroyed in a day all Leone’s bright illusions 
of toy guns and tin helmets. A boy who could ride was 
half a man already, and even half a man must be above 
the suspicion of playing with sham weapons. After his 
third ride in the Villa, Leone solemnly presented his 
whole armoury to the children of the porter downstairs, 
and though his room seemed very bare for a day or two, 
he found consolation in sitting astride of a chair, con- 
scientiously repeating to himself and practising the in- 
structions he had received from Montalto. 

‘ Toes in ! Grip the saddle with your knees, not with 
your calves i Elbows to your sides ! Your heels down, 
m a line with your head and your shoulder ! Hold the 
bridle lightly, don’t hold on by it ! Head straight, not 
thrown back, nor forward either! Look before you, 
between the pony’s ears ! ’ 

As he repeated each well-remembered precept Leone 
studied his position to be sure that he was really obeying 
the order. It was ever so much more real, even on a 
chair, than prancing about on his feet, astride of a stick. 


CHAP. XIU 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


203 


with a tin sabre, yelling the Royal March ; and it was 
incomparably more dignified. 

Maria came to his room one afternoon and found him 
at his self-imposed exercise. She paused on the thresh- 
old, before he knew that she was there, and she watched 
him with a rather sad smile. He was so tremendously 
strong and vital, and she felt so subdued and weary! 
It seemed impossible that he should be her child. Yet 
hers he was. 

He ordered himself to sit very straight, and in the 
pause during which he made sure of having been very 
attentive, he heard her and turned his head. He laughed 
a little shyly at being caught. 

‘It’s not play,’ he hastened to say. ‘It’s practice. 
I go over everything papa tells me, and I do it very care- 
fully. Then he says I learn very fast, but he doesn’t 
know I practise. Of course, if he asked me, I’d tell 
him. It’s not wrong not to tell him, if he doesn’t ask 
me, is it, mama?’ 

‘No, dear,’ Maria answered, and she bent down and 
kissed the boy’s forehead. 

‘Because I hke to surprise him by doing it better 
than he expects,’ he went on. ‘Then he smiles, and I 
hke him when he smiles.’ 

‘I think you always hke him, my dear,’ said his mother. 
‘Don’t you?’ 

‘Yes. But I wasn’t going to, though!’ The young 
jaw thrust itself forward viciously. ‘I thought I was 
going to hate him when he came in here with you that 
day. I did !’ 


204 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


‘You must try not to hate any one/ said Maria; and 
again she kissed his forehead. 

‘Oh, that’s all very well, mama!’ retorted the boy. 
‘Why do you always kiss my forehead now?’ he asked 
suddenly. ‘It used to be the back of my neck, you 
know, just here!’ 

He laughed, and put up his hand behind his head to 
the spot where the short hair was always trying to curl. 
But Maria had turned away to inspect his tooth-brush, 
as she often did after she had discovered the use he 
had made of one for cleaning his toy gun. She did not 
answer his question. 

‘Oh, you needn’t look at it, mama,’ he said, watching 
her. ‘At least, not till I have a real gun. Besides,’ 
he added rather mournfully, ‘I brush my teeth now.’ 

‘Oh — I’m glad to hear it ! ’ 

‘Yes,’ Leone answered, with his hands in his pockets. 
‘You see, papa does — so I suppose I must, too.’ 

‘But I always told you to!’ Maria could not help 
smiling. ‘Was not that enough, child?’ 

‘ Oh, yes, of course. But it’s different. I want to be 
like papa.’ 

Maria had not been prepared for this speech, and the 
smile faded from her face. 

‘You could not do better,’ she said gravely. ‘He is 
an honest gentleman, if ever there was one.’ 

‘I’d give anything to look hke him, too. But I sup- 
pose that’s impossible. I’d hke to have a dark, grave 
face, like his, and at the same time to look so smart — 
most of all on horseback.’ 


CHAP, xin 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


205 


‘You cannot change your looks, dear/ Maria managed 
to say, and she pretended to continue her inspection of 
the room, lest he should see her face just then. 

The world was very hard to understand, she thought, 
and later, when she was alone, she pondered on this new 
mystery. It still seemed impossible that the least hkely 
of all things should have happened : that Leone should 
have developed a whole-hearted, boyish admiration for 
Montalto was strange enough, but that Montalto should 
apparently have taken a real hking to Leone, and some- 
thing more, was past her comprehension. It was almost 
too much, and a deep, unacknowledged feminine instinct 
was ready to rise up against it, though all her conscience 
and intelhgence told her that she should be grateful to 
her husband for the large forgiveness he bestowed upon 
her in every act of kindness to the boy. 

He had changed quickly since his return, and she 
sometimes found it hard to believe that he had come back 
to her looking hke the wreck of a man, that his tears had 
rim down like a nervous woman’s, scalding her hands 
till she had felt contempt for his unmanly weakness. 

Certain people have what may be called dramatic 
constitutions and faces ; a few hours of anxiety or pain 
make havoc of their looks; when others would merely 
look tired, they become haggard, their cheeks fall in, 
their eyes grow hollow; in a fortnight they grow thin 
till they seem shadowy. But when the pain is over, or 
the anxiety is relieved, their normal appearance returns 
with amazing rapidity. In three or four weeks after 
he had come home, Montalto was his old self again, 


206 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


saving his prematurely grey hair and beard; but even 
they no longer made him look old now that his still 
young face had filled out again and recovered its normal 
coloiu*. He was once more a grave, dark, erect and 
rather handsome man, apparently endowed with a 
strong will of his own, and undoubtedly imbued with an 
almost exaggerated sense of his dignity. He was again 
the husband Maria had married nine years ago, and he 
had blotted out of his memory all that had happened 
from then till now. 

He was almost the same again; and so was Maria 
herself. If he had remained as much changed as he 
had seemed to be at first, she might possibly have de- 
luded herself with the idea that he was not really the 
same man, after all, so that he was now her real husband 
and she had dreamed all the rest. But even such an 
imaginary alleviation as that was denied her. He was 
only too really the same in all ways ; she quivered at his 
gentlest touch and writhed under his loving caress, and 
presently she wondered why he never felt that she 
loathed him, even if he could not see it in her face. 

A villainous idea suggested itself. Perhaps he both 
felt and saw her repugnance ; perhaps his kindness was 
all a cruel comedy, his affection for Leone a diabolical 
deception ; perhaps he was revenging himself in his own 
way, and delighting inwardly in the unspeakable suffer- 
ing he inflicted. 

But the thought was too unbalanced to sustain itself. 
According to his fights, Maria was sure that he was a good 
man. Don Ippofito Saracinesca knew human nature 


CHAP. XUI 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


207 


well, and could not have been deceived for years in one 
whom he called his friend. Diego di Montalto was not 
a monster of cruelty; his love was real, his forgiveness 
was real, his liking for the boy he might so naturally 
have detested was real too — it was all awfully real. 
God in heaven would not have expected her to submit 
herself body and mind to be tormented by a wicked 
man for the rest of her life, in vengeance for one fault. 
No, her husband was a good man, who had been generous 
beyond words ; he had come home to take her back be- 
fore the whole world, defying it to speak evil against his 
honoured wife, he had come home to be her husband and 
her child’s father. And when he touched her she trem- 
bled and felt sick ; but this was her just expiation, and 
she must bear it as well as she could, and hide her horror 
of him till she died of it. Even that would not come soon. 
She had not a dramatic organisation like his, and she 
could be made to bear a great deal before the end. She 
would have been a good patient for the tormentors in 
older times, for she would not have fainted soon, or died, 
and felt nothing more. She was very quiet, a little sub- 
dued, and there was sometimes a startled, haunted look 
in her eyes, but that was all ; she ate enough, she went 
about her occupations, she wrote letters to Giuliana and 
others, she looked after Leone, she even slept as much as 
was necessary, and people thought she was at last con- 
tented, if not happy, with the rather dull and formal 
husband who had come back to her. They saw, too, 
or beheved, that she and Castiglione were completely 
estranged and hardly spoke when they happened to meet 


208 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


anywhere; but even such meetings were of very rare 
occurrence, because she and her husband were in such 
deep mourning. 

The summer came, and they went northwards in a 
comfortable motor car. They stopped on their way to 
make short visits to more or less distant relations who 
were already at their country places ; they spent a fort- 
night by the seaside, near Genoa, a day or two in Milan, 
a hot week in Venice near the end of July ; and so they 
came by easy stages to Montalto, with its solemn towers, 
its deep woods and its waterfalls, its fertile valley, its 
rich farms and its thriving village ; and there they stayed 
through the rest of the summer and into the early 
autumn. 

Leone rode with Montalto every day, and by and by 
he was taught to hold a real gun in the right way, and 
then to shoot; and at last Montalto took him out one 
day and he fired his first shot at a pheasant and missed, 
but he killed a bird the second time, and was the happiest 
boy in the world for the rest of that day. Through all 
those months Montalto himself gained strength daily 
and recovered more and more of the comparative youth- 
fulness which remains to a man not forty; and Maria 
changed httle, if at all, though Leone thought the white 
patch near her left temple was growing larger. 

Also, in those quiet days, the boy and the man became 
more and more closely attached to each other. Montalto 
took more real interest in teaching Leone to ride and shoot 
than he had ever shown in anything ; and Leone was more 
entirely persuaded that Montalto was his ideal, though he 


CHAP, xm 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


209 


still declared that he himself would be a soldier and 
nothing else. 

During this time Maria frequently saw Orlando 
Schmidt, the steward. She had not seen him in Rome 
after her husband had arrived, and when she noticed tho 
latter’s reserved tone in speaking of him, she had not men- 
tioned him again and had soon forgotten his existence. 
There was no special reason why she should think of him 
at all, though she had found him very efficient and ready 
to serve her. 

But now he appeared again, and as a personage of con- 
siderable importance, who came to her husband’s study 
almost every day on matters connected with the estate- 
She met him the first time when she was alone in the great 
avenue that led from the park gate to the castle. He 
lived in a small house just outside the village at the 
foot of the hill, and he usually walked up by the 
avenue. 

He bowed ceremoniously to the Countess from a con- 
siderable distance, and carried his hat in his hand as he 
came nearer. He blushed a fittle when she bent her 
head at last and said good-morning in passing ; and as she 
did not stop to say more, he went on. He turned after 
he had gone on a few steps and looked after her, being 
quite sure that she would not do the same. Why should 
the Countess of Montalto condescend to look round at 
such a humble person as Orlando Schmidt? So he 
walked slowly and turned again and again to watch the 
graceful figure that was slowly ghding into the distance 
under the shade of the ancient elms. When he could no 


210 


A LADY OF ROME 


PABT n 


longer see her distinctly he glanced at his watch and went 
on his way quickly. 

Two days later Maria met him almost in the same place, 
and at almost the same hour in the morning ; which was 
natural enough, for she had dropped into the dull punc- 
tuahty in doing unimportant things at regular times 
which is the foundation of a woman's life in a country 
house where there are no visitors ; and as it was Schmidt's 
business to be exact about his duties, there was really 
no reason why she should not pass him in the same place 
and nearly at the same moment, on every fine day. 

This time Schmidt stood still at a short distance, as 
if he wished to say something, and when Maria stopped, 
he inqiiired if he could be of service to her in any way. 
She was a httle surprised at the question. 

He meant to ask, he said, whether she had any wishes 
with regard to the grounds or the garden. The Count, 
he explained, took no interest in those matters, but would 
be much pleased if her Excellency would give them some 
attention. He, Schmidt, had done his best to keep up 
the place since he had been in charge of it, but he was only 
too conscious that he knew nothing of landscape garden- 
ing and very httle about flowers. Maria said quietly 
that she understood neither, though she knew what she 
hked. 

Thereupon Schmidt observed that a quantity of hand- 
some stone-work of the fifteenth century was lying piled 
up in the kitchen court, and he thought it must have 
been put there about a himdred and twenty or thirty 
years ago, when a Countess of Montalto had thought it 


CHAP. XIII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


211 


would be an improvement to destroy the beautiful 
mediseval close garden in the course of constructing a 
miniature Versailles which had never been finished. He, 
Schmidt, would take pleasure in showing the stone-work 
to her Excellency if she would take the trouble to look 
at it. He had also found an old plan of the former 
garden amongst the papers of his own great-grandfather, 
who had been steward of Montalto from 1760 to 1800. 
At a small cost the really beautiful mediseval well and 
cloistered walk could be reconstructed, and he ventured 
to suggest that they would be more in keeping with the 
whole place than a wretched httle imitation of Lenotre’s 
vast work. 

Maria thought so, too, and after saying that she would 
ask her husband about it, she nodded kindly to the 
thoughtful young man and continued her walk. 

In the evening, when Montalto had told her the politi- 
cal news he had read before dinner, and had opened a 
third Havana cigarette to roll it over again in French 
paper, Maria told him what Schmidt had said. Montalto 
was naturally as punctual in all his little ways as his 
wife was rapidly becoming by acquired habit. The post 
came late in the afternoon, and he always spent half an 
hour in reading the newspapers before he dressed for 
dinner. Just as invariably, too, he told his wife what 
he had read, and he almost always reached the end of 
his budget of intelligence just as he began to make his 
third cigarette. Maria did not always hsten to what he 
was telhng her, but the third cigarette was a landmark 
in the long dull evening, and when it was reached she 


212 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


knew that Montalto expected her to make a little con- 
versation in return for his carefully repeated news. 
On this particular occasion she was glad to have some- 
thing to say, and at once asked him about the old 
garden. 

To her surprise Montalto did not give her any answer 
at once, and she waited for his reply, watching the 
motion of his well-made fingers, of which the first two 
were stained a deep yellowish brown from smoking cigar- 
ettes. They rolled the cigarette slowly, but very neatly. 

'Yes,^ Montalto said after a long time, when he had 
got a light and was leaning back in his chair. ^Yes,^ 
he repeated, in a tone of profound meditation. ^Yes, 
by all means, if it amuses you, my dear.’ 

^ Then you think Schmidt is right about the old things ? ’ 
said Maria with a renewed interrogation in her tone. 

Another pause, and several small puffs of smoke. 

^ Maria,’ Montalto began, as if he had reached a con- 
clusion, 'you are not what people call a highly accom- 
plished woman, but you have a great deal of sense.’ 

The Countess wondered what was coming, and an- 
swered by a prehminary and deprecating smile. Mont- 
alto often told her that in his opinion she was the most 
beautiful creature in the world; after such nonsense it 
was a relief to be called a sensible woman. She might not 
be even that, but at all events the statement was not 
likely to lead to one of those outbreaks of his passion for 
her which she dreaded. 

'Maria,’ he said, as if he were beginning over again, 
'I have great confidence in your judgment.’ 


CHAP, xni 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


213 


^But I know nothing about gardening or mediaeval 
wells/ she protested. 

^Possibly not, though you know vastly more about 
both than I do. I was brought up under the influence 
of the Spanish taste of the eighteenth century, and I 
like it. Ippolito Saracinesca says it is atrocious, and 
of course he knows. But I hke it, nevertheless.^ 

^At least, you have the courage of your opinion,^ 
said Maria, still completely in the dark, but feehng that 
she must say something. 

^That does not matter, for it is not the question,’ 
returned her husband. ^ We neither of us know anything 
about architecture, I am sure. But I shall be glad if 
you will go into this question with Schmidt, and then 
give me an opinion.’ 

Mt will be worthless.’ 

^Not your opinion of the garden, my dear, but your 
opinion of Schmidt.’ 

^Oh!’ Maria was very much surprised. ^But why? 
I told you in Rome that I thought him an excellent 
person and very intelhgent !’ 

^Did it ever occur to you that he might be too intel- 
ligent?’ 

^No. But perhaps I don’t understand just what you 
mean. Do you think he is educated above his station ? 
Too good for his place?’ 

'Not at all. But sometimes, in money dealings and 
positions of trust, a man may be too clever. That is 
what I mean.’ 

'You mean that you don’t quite trust him,’ said 


214 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


Maria, ^and you wish me to form a judgment of 
him/ 

want your opinion,’ answered Montalto, who was 
at odds with his over-sensitive conscience. should 
be very unjust to Schmidt if I were to say that he may 
not be quite honest. It would be very wrong to assume 
such a thing of any one, would it not ? ’ 

^If you had no grounds for suspicion, yes. But even 
an instinctive distrust of a man of business is enough 
reason for not giving him the entire control of a large 
estate.’ 

^ Do you really think so, my dear ? You see, the men 
of his family have been our stewards for some Httle 
time.’ 

‘ He told me they had served you two hundred years.’ 

‘Yes, yes — for some time, as you say, and I have 
always understood that they were honest people.’ 

He was so excessively scrupulous that Maria guessed 
he must have some serious ground for his slight suspicion 
of the man he was trusting. The question began to in- 
terest her, if only as a study of her husband’s character. 

‘Really, Diego,’ she said, ‘if you wish me to form any 
reasonable judgment you must tell me something more 
than this. What has the man done to make you doubt 
him?’ 

Montalto looked at his wife thoughtfully before he 
answered. 

‘I will tell you, but you must not repeat the story to 
any one, please.’ 

‘Certainly not.’ 


CHAP, xm 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


215 


‘ He once got into some scrape, four or five years ago, 
and he took a small sum of money to help himself out 
of trouble.’ 

‘Oh!’ For the second time Maria was surprised. 
‘But that is called ’ 

‘He confessed it to me,’ Montalto hastened to say be- 
fore Maria could finish her sentence. ‘ He threw himself 
upon my mercy by a voluntary confession, promising 
to make up the sum as soon as he could. I thought the 
matter over for two days and then I forgave him.’ 

‘That was like you,’ Maria said gently. 

Had he not forgiven her a far greater debt ? 

‘It was only just,’ Montalto answered. ‘I meant 
never to think of the matter again unless he repeated the 
offence.’ 

‘Has he done anything of the kind since then?’ 

‘No.’ 

‘But you think he might.’ 

‘N — no. But he could if he wished to, and I don’t 
think I should ever know it ! ’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘ My dear, he paid back the money very soon ; so soon 
that I was surprised. Then I sent him to Spain on an 
errand, and while he was away I got a confidential ac- 
countant here and we examined his books very care- 
fuUy.’ 

‘Well?’ 

‘It was impossible to find any trace of what he had 
done. Unless a man has actually taken money dishon- 
estly, he does not confess and pay it back. But there 


216 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


is something very strange about the matter if you cannot 
find some proof of his own confession in his own accounts.^ 

‘Was it much ?’ asked Maria. 

‘Only five thousand francs. But in that year the 
books showed no change in the rent-roll of the estate — 
he might have made out that the rents had fallen, so as 
to pocket the difference, you understand. On the con- 
trary, it was a good year, and the tenants paid punc- 
tually; and there were the banker^s receipts for the 
corresponding deposits, exact to a fraction. Five 
thousand is not a large sum, but it is a very noticeable 
one in a matter of business.’ 

‘I should think so!’ assented Maria, thinking 
of the limited income on which she had hved for years, 
and in which a deficit of five thousand francs would have 
been a serious matter. 

‘It is very strange that a man whose business it is to 
detect frauds in accounts should not be able to find a 
trace of one that has been confessed by its author, is it 
not?’ 

‘Very!’ 

‘That is my reason for saying that Schmidt may be 
too intelhgent. I hope I am not doing him an injustice 
in saying so. That is the reason why I want your opin- 
ion about him. I really could not ask him how he did it, 
after forgiving him, and it would have been still more 
unjust to reveal his secret by asking my banker to com- 
pare the receipts purporting to come from him with his 
own books. I had forgiven him freely; I could not 
accuse him to another man of having done what he had 


CHAP. XIU 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


217 


voluntarily confessed. It would not have been hon- 
ourable, for my banker would have known at once that 
I distrusted my steward and suspected him of forging 
banker’s receipts.’ 

^Yes. I see.’ 

‘Precisely. But the most honourable man in the 
world may confide matters to his wife which it would be 
base in him to lay before any one else.’ 

‘Except a confessor,’ Maria said; but she was not 
thinking of Schmidt. 

‘My confessor was not a man of any business capacity,’ 
answered Montalto without a smile. ‘Nor is my friend 
Ippohto Saracinesca either; and I would certainly not 
consult any one else except my wife.’ 

‘Thank you.’ 

He had taken a long time to tell his story about the 
poor steward, hampered as he was at every step by a 
conscientious fear of injuring the man. What Maria 
saw was that he had been unboundedly generous to 
Schmidt, as he had been to her in a matter much nearer 
to life and death ; and by a sort of imconscious analogical 
reasoning she felt, rather than concluded, that the 
steward must be as grateful as she was, and as resolved 
to be faithful at any cost. Moreover, he had made a 
favourable impression on her from the first ; and though 
she was a little shocked at what she now learned about 
him, her ultimate verdict as to his present honesty was 
a foregone judgment. 

After this long talk with Montalto she saw Schmidt 
often. He showed her the old plans, the position of the 


218 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


former garden, and the fragments of the well and the 
cloistered walk, and after much consultation with her hus- 
band and several evenings spent in the study of Vioilet- 
le-Duc, they determined that the old construction should 
be restored as far as possible, a conclusion which has no 
bearing upon this story beyond the fact that it was the 
means of bringing Maria and the steward together almost 
daily, and that the execution of the work and his careful 
economy in the whole affair raised him in the Countess’s 
estimation ; or rather, they confirmed that preconceived 
good opinion of him which she had formed in the begin- 
ning, and on which such grave matters afterwards 
turned. 

Before they left Montalto her husband inquired as to 
the result of her observation of the man. 

M cannot help beheving that he is now perfectly 
honest and devoted to your interests,’ she said. ^That 
is the impression he makes on me, and I do not think it 
will change.’ 

^Then I shall take him to Rome,’ Montalto answered 
without hesitation. ^Our property there is in a dis- 
graceful state and is not yielding much more than the 
half of what it should. Schmidt is the only man I have 
under my hand who can set matters right, and he shall 
go to work at once.’ 

M agree with you,’ Maria said quietly. M thought 
so last spring when I first saw him.’ 

The life at Montalto went on a little longer after that, 
and the work on the garden made it a little less monot- 
onous. Not that Maria disfiked that side of it. Since 


CHAP. XIII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


219 


she was to live her married life again, it was a little 
easier to hve it in that deep retirement, where she could 
so often be left to herself for half the day while Montalto 
and Leone were out shooting, or riding, or visiting some 
distant part of the estate. To be alone as much as pos- 
sible was her chief aim in the arrangement of her day. 
There had been a time when she had been happy to 
have Leone always by her side ; but now he talked to her 
so incessantly of her husband and of what they had done 
and were going to do together, that she often wished he 
would be silent or go away. 

The time had come when the boy began to turn to the 
man for what he wanted, even more readily than to his 
mother; and there is nothing quite like a mother^s 
lonehness of heart when she sees that she can no longer 
compete with the manly influence in amusing and in- 
teresting her only boy. How can pretty stories and 
sugar-plums stand against horse, and dog, and gun, and 
a day's sport ? And what is motherly love to a healthy 
boy, compared with the quahties of a father who can 
give him such things and share in his enjo5mient of them ? 
Also, the smaller the boy the greater his delight in any 
grown-up sport, and Leone had begun to ride and shoot 
at an age when most Roman boys are scarcely out of the 
nursery. It is true that he looked two or three years 
older than his age, and had fought with boys bigger than 
himself, like Mario Campodonico, and had ^hammered' 
them, as he called it. 

This was the situation between Montalto, his wife and 
the boy, when they all came back to Rome towards the 


220 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


end of October; and Orlando Schmidt went before 
them to see that everything was ready and to take the 
place of the old steward, who had at last died, leaving 
the estate in a confusion worthy of his well-meaning 
stupidity. Schmidt was to set matters right, and find 
a proper man to manage the Roman lands under his 
general direction, while he himself administered the 
Montalto estate as heretofore. He had, in fact, been 
promoted to be the agent for all the property owned by 
the Count in Italy. 

In October, too, six months after the Dowager Count- 
ess’s death, Maria and her husband put on half mourn- 
ing, according to the strict rule that prevails in Rome 
in those matters ; and though they would not go to balls 
and big dinners yet, they were permitted to see something 
of their friends — and even of their acquaintances. 

That was really the end of the quiet life they had led 
together for five months. Maria was to go back, take 
her place in society as a Roman lady, and be a great 
personage once more in that old-fashioned, ceremonious 
life which has survived in scarcely any other city in the 
world, and is fast disappearing in Rome itself. 

So far had Maria dragged herself on the thorny path 
of her expiation without much help from without, and 
with httle hope within. 


CHAPTER XIV 


Monsieur Jules de Maurienne gambled, and, like 
most rich men who do, he generally won more than he 
lost. He did not gamble for the sake of winning money, 
however, for hp was a gentleman and avarice was not 
among his faults, though he was not extravagant in his 
way of hving, and knew very nearly to a penny what he 
spent from month to month. What he enjoyed was the 
excitement of fearing that he was going to lose, as he 
occasionally did, though with no serious damage to his 
fortune. Some people do daring things when there is a 
good reason for doing them, and they are hke cats at 
bay; others are incapable of physical fear and never 
believe in danger and they are like healthy puppies; 
but one meets men now and then who fully reahse every 
risk, and take a real pleasure in trying how far they can 
go without breaking their necks. None of the lower 
animals will do this; it is a characteristic of the born 
gambler. 

De Maurienne did not play much in drawing-rooms or 
at the clubs. The stakes were rarely high enough to 
give him an emotion, and the sensation of winning much 
from friends who could not always afford to lose made 
him uncomfortable. He therefore frequented one of 
those quiet httle establishments in the neighbourhood 
221 


222 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


of the Piazza di Spagna where baccara, roulette, and 
rouge et noir go on from three in the afternoon till three 
in the morning, or later. He was far too refined in his 
taste for pleasure to waste a whole evening at such a 
place, and he frequented it at odd moments late in the 
afternoon. A man is rarely missed at that hour, and if 
he occasionally finds an acquaintance in a gambling den, 
the encounter is not mentioned afterwards, any more 
than those who meet there would think of calling each 
other by their names. For the society in the haunts of 
vice is extremely mixed, to say the least of it, though 
the owners of the establishments take infinite trouble 
to make it select. 

Teresa Crescenzi had not succeeded in marrying de 
Maurienne during the summer, though they had gone 
together all the way from Rome to Paris in his big motor 
car, and nobody happened to remember who had made 
up the party. On some points the Itahans and the 
French never seem to understand each other. Monsieur 
de Mamienne appeared to think it quite unnecessary To 
marry Donna Teresa Crescenzi, whereas she was equally 
convinced that marriage was indispensable. With the 
arguments and stratagems used on each side this story 
is not concerned ; it is a cowardly thing to spy upon a 
lady’s secret doings, and the novehst should sometimes 
imitate Falstaff in judging discretion to be the better 
part of valour. He may, however, remind his forgetful 
readers that when Teresa met Maria Montalto in a quiet 
street and said that she had been to confession, she was 
wilfully misstating a fact. 


CHAP. XIV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


223 


It came to pass, towards Christmas, that she noticed 
how often her friend disappeared late in the afternoon. 
It is easier and more amusing to make a long story short 
than to make a short story long. Here, therefore, are 
the facts in the case. She expected to meet de Maurienne 
somewhere at tea, but he did not come; the next time 
she saw him she asked where he had been, and he named 
the house of another friend. Tactful inquiry soon as- 
certained that he had not been there either. The same 
thing happened three times within ten days, and Teresa 
made up her mind that there was another woman in the 
case. Being anxious not to lose time, which, at her age, 
still had some value', and having no scruples of any 
sort, she employed a private detective, who ran the 
truant de Maurienne to earth on the third day at the door 
of a gambling den in Via Belsiana. It is odd that all 
detectives should know just where such wicked places 
are, whereas the police can hardly ever find them. Why 
do the pohce not employ the detectives, as other people 
do ? But these things are a mystery. 

Teresa was so much relieved that she gave her inform- 
ant a handsome present ; for, hke many people who have 
nothing, she often gave lavishly; and having noted the 
address of the gambling establishment and the hour at 
which de Maurienne had twice been seen entering it, she 
completed the detective’s work by watching the door 
herself. With a veil and a quiet-looking frock she could 
walk in the ahnost deserted street without attracting 
attention, and her bearing was not calculated to invite 
enterprise on the part of any stray dandy who might 


224 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART U 


pass that way. Indeed, only one man made the mistake 
of speaking to her. 

She only wanted to be sure that de Maurienne really 
went to that house on the days when he could not be 
found anywhere else; when she was certain of this her 
jealousy sank peacefully to rest. She knew that he 
would never ruin himself. As for the hkehhood of being 
recognised by him, she was indifferent to that. She 
would have told him that she had been to confession, and 
would have asked him to find her a cab. 

But in the course of several half-hours spent in this way 
in Via Belsiana, about dusk, she saw a surprising num- 
ber of men enter the modest door, and now and then she 
recognised an acquaintance. She also saw a few come 
out, who must have gone there early in the afternoon. 
It was one of these who made the mistake of speaking 
to her as he met her, half a dozen steps from the thresh- 
old. She held her head in the air and quickened her 
pace, and he did not try to follow her ; but she had seen 
his face clearly, and remembered it afterwards, and 
thought he must have been a foreigner, for he was fair, 
with a fresh complexion, and wore grey clothes that had 
not an Itahan look. 

She made her annual round of visits before Christmas, 
as Romans generally do, and, hke a sensible woman, 
she did not merely leave cards everywhere without so 
much as asking whether people were in ; on the contrary, 
she was conscientious, and tried to find them at home. 

It was quite natural that she should call on the Countess 
of Montalto, but when she did, she was told that Maria 


CHAP. XIV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


225 


was out. This might happen to anybody, of course, so 
she wrote a hne on her card to say that she would come 
again very soon, and drove away. Two days later she 
asked for Maria again. Her Excellency was out. This 
also might happen, with no intention. Three days after 
that she stopped a third time at the entrance of the 
palace. The tall porter lifted his black cocked hat with 
imperturbable serenity and respect. Her Excellency 
was not at home. 

Then Teresa began to suspect something, and took a 
card with the intention of writing a few words to ask 
when Maria would see her ; and while she was hesitating 
about the phrase, which the porter would certainly read 
before sending it upstairs, she sat in her little hired 
phaeton and unconsciously looked in under the great 
archway, past the porter, who was waiting at her elbow. 
Just at that moment she saw a man coming towards her 
from within, a fair man with a fresh complexion, dressed 
in grey. He glanced at her and lifted his hat a little, 
and the porter moved to let him pass, because the car- 
riage was very near the pillars that stood on each side 
of the entrance. Teresa was not above asking questions 
of a servant when she was curious. 

^Who was that?^ she inquired, looking down and 
beginning to write on her card while she spoke. H 
know his face, but I cannot remember his name.^ 

‘He is the steward of Montalto, Excellency, Signor 
Schmidt.’ 

‘ Of course ! ’ exclaimed Teresa as if she now remem- 
bered perfectly. 

Q 


226 


A LADY OF HOME 


PAKT II 


She finished writing, gave the porter the card, and 
drove away, meditating on the fact that the steward of 
Montalto frequented a gambling den in Via Belsiana 
and spoke to ladies in the street. It also annoyed her 
to think that Monsieur de Maurienne had doubtless often 
played at the same table with such people, and had pos- 
sibly won money from Signor Schmidt. Teresa was more 
sensitive on some points than on others. 

Maria did not answer her written message. On the 
second day Teresa received a note in a large, stiff hand- 
writing, unfamiliar to her. 

Montalto had written himself, in very cold and formal 
terms, to request her not to put herself to the inconven- 
ience of asking for the Countess again. 

Nothing could have been plainer, and Teresa flushed 
angrily. 

*That is what one gets for defending one’s friends!’ 
she cried, in a rage. 

But she remembered quite well that in her anxiety 
to defend Maria she had said a number of extremely dis- 
agreeable things about Montalto ’s mother, which were 
also quite untrue. Some careful relation had doubtless 
repeated her observations to him, and now he refused to 
let her enter his house. She wondered rather flippantly 
what would happen if everything she had said in her life 
were repeated to the wrong people, and the idea was so 
amusing that she laughed at it. But she bore Montalto 
a lasting grudge from that day, and it pleased her to re- 
flect that his steward spent spare hours in a gambling 
den and would probably rob him in the end. She would 


CHAP. XIV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


227 


take great care to keep the secret, lest some one should 
warn him in time, but she would also do her best to 
meet Maria in some friend’s house, and would tell her 
what she thought of her behaviour. She felt the hu- 
mihation of having had her name sent down to the por- 
ter’s lodge as that of a person for whom the Countess was 
never at home. Such a thing had never happened to 
her before. 

She was Maria’s enemy now, as she had once been her 
defender, when it had suited her to take the side of 
frailty, which may bend without being quite broken, 
against that columnar social virtue which may possibly 
break but never bends at all. Teresa’s enmity was not 
likely to be very dangerous, however, for she was, on the 
whole, a good-natured gossip, and might at any time be 
in need of a good word for herself in the dangerous game 
she was playing. 

She reflected with rather imnecessary bitterness on 
her position as a defenceless widow, and felt quite sure 
that if she were Madame de Maurienne, Montalto would 
not have the courage to insult her husband by refusing 
to receive her. 


CHAPTER XV 


Castiglione had a sort of rule for avoiding Maria which 
worked very well for a long time. There is a great same- 
ness in the hves of Roman ladies even now, and in a so- 
ciety which is numerically small it is rarely hard to guess 
where the more important members of it are. So long 
as Maria had lived in Via San Martino, not by any means 
cut off from the world, but quite independent of it, she 
had been in the habit of coming and going as she pleased. 
She could shp out to the httle oratory in Via Somma 
Campagna at seven o’clock in the morning, she could put 
on her hat unknown to her maid and go over to the sta- 
tion to post a letter, she could call a cab and drive to 
Saint Peter’s, or she could take Leone with her at a mo- 
ment’s notice, on a fine day, for a walk in the outlying 
quarters of the city, towards Santa Maria Maggiore. 
All these things look very simple, unimportant, and easy, 
and it might be supposed that she could have enjoyed 
the same small fiber ty after she had moved back to the 
Palazzo Montalto. 

But she could not. Whenever she went out, there was 
a footman on duty in the hall, where the wide swinging 
door to the landing of the grand staircase was never 
fastened except at night. If she was allowed to go down- 
stairs alone, the footman touched a bell that rang in the 
228 


CHAP. XV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


229 


porter’s lodge, and the porter was waiting for her under 
the arched entrance, respectful but imposing, and by 
no means allowing her to take a cab for herself at the 
stand, fifty paces from the door. The cab must be called 
for her, and two of those on the stand were privileged 
by turns, because the cabmen paid the porter a percent- 
age of what he allowed them to earn. Then, too, the 
address to which she wished to be taken had to be given 
to him, and he transmitted it to the cabman in a stern 
manner, as if he thought the man certainly meant to 
take her somewhere else and must be dealt with severely. 

As for going out in her own carriage, that was quite 
an affair of state, too, though old Telemaco still sat on the 
box. She could not go to the telephone whenever she 
pleased and order him to come when she wanted him. 
There was red tape in such matters. Maria had to tell 
a footman, who had to tell another, who went down- 
stairs when he was ready and who was in no hurry to find 
the coachman ; and difficulties arose about horses which 
had never been heard of when she had hired a pair by the 
month. 

Moreover, Leone now had a tutor at home, and was 
taken to the clerical Istituto Massimo every morning, 
because Montalto objected to the pubhc schools, and 
Maria was not able to argue the question, 

‘ Either you believe in our rehgion, or you do not, my 
dear,’ the Count had said. 

‘I hope I do,’ Maria had answered meekly. 

Mn that case I cannot see how you can even think of 
sending Leone to a school where no religion is taught.’ 


230 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART U 


She could not answer this, though she had a suspicion 
that the boy might be ‘taught religion’ in some other 
and better way than at the day-school. Yet it was better 
to have him go to the Istituto Massimo and come home 
for luncheon, than to lose him altogether for three-quar- 
ters of the year, as she must if he were sent to the Jesuit 
school of Mondragone in the country ; and that seemed 
to be the alternative in Montalto’s mind. He himself 
had been several years at the latter place, but Leone 
had become necessary to him and he wanted the boy at 
home. Maria submitted a little more readily to his de- 
cision when she thought of Castiglione, who had been 
through a public school and the military academy, and 
who, according to her ideas, had no religion at all. 

Leone’s schoohng, the Count’s methodical habits, and 
the tiresome formalities and traditions of existence in 
the great house combined to make Maria’s days almost 
as monotonously regular in Rome as they had been in 
Montalto ; and as they closely resembled those of other 
Roman ladies of the same age who had children to edu- 
cate, it was not hard for Castiglione to keep out of her 
way. 

So far as society went it was made still easier, because 
even after Christmas, when their mourning was shghtly 
relaxed, Montalto was evidently inchned to confine his 
acquaintance to the old-fashioned and clerical houses, 
so far as any still existed, rather than to extend it into 
the modern circles where Castigfione was more often 
seen. Montalto made an exception for Giuhana Pa- 
renzo and her husband. 


CHAP. XV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


231 


Similar conditions being granted for any particular case, 
two people can live a long time without meeting face to 
face, even in Rome ; and in a city like London they may 
not meet in a dozen years if they wish to avoid each other. 

Castiglione faced his life quietly and courageously, 
but there were moments in which his intention weakened. 
At times it seemed to him impossible that such a situa- 
tion should last till his regiment left Rome. Maria was a 
saint, he admitted, and he had no doubt at all but that 
he was a man of honour and meant to respect his promise, 
however quixotic it looked. But he did not ‘rise higher,’ 
as Maria used to write him that he must, and still prayed 
that he might. On the contrary, though he kept his 
word, he sometimes wished that he had not given it; 
the roughly mascuhne side of his nature rebelled against 
the higher hfe, till he asked himself why, after all, he was 
living like a man imder vows and avoiding the woman he 
loved, for the sake of a dream that was quite past and 
could never visit him again. 

But these moods never lasted long. It was true that 
he had not Maria’s faith in things rmseen to help him, 
nor her beatific vision of an eternal reward for earthly 
virtues ; but, on the other hand, he had a strong percep- 
tion of what was right and wrong, in the sense that 
conceives actions as morally noble or ignoble, and brave 
or cowardly, and he guessed what Maria was undergoing. 
He had been the cause of h^ ' suffering, and it would be 
dastardly to let her outdo h' .. m courage, knowing that 
she loved him still. In refusing to see him she was mak- 
ing the greatest sacrifice she could, next to the supreme 


232 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


one she had made when she had let her husband take 
her back. Castiglione knew that. People who love in 
earnest do not stop to ask if they are flattering them- 
selves when they believe that they are loved in return. 

The soldier was not at all analytical, though he had so 
long led an inward existence which no one suspected. 
He knew when his thoughts were ignoble, and he despised 
them then and was disgusted with himself ; but during 
most of the time he merely looked upon the exceptional 
life he was leading for Maria’s sake as a duty, and there- 
fore as something which must be done, whether he hked 
it or not. He was rather a rough specimen of manhood, 
but his nature was on large lines. Under grosser influ- 
ences in early youth, he might have turned out what 
women call a brute, and perhaps it was only his love for 
Maria that had saved him from that. All men saints 
have not been born like Bernard of Clairvaux, ethereal, 
spiritual, eloquent, and already beings of another world. 
There have been very human Augustines, too, and sorely 
tempted Anthonys without end, and there have been 
denying Peters and doubting Thomases ever since the 
beginning ; and because some of them were men of hke 
passions with ourselves, most of us feel nearer to them 
than to the great ascetics, and we imderstand them better. 

In his thoughts Castiglione called Maria a saint, and 
compared her to a Catherine of Siena rather than to a 
Magdalen; but she, too, ha^ her moments of passionate 
regret, if not of weakness., she, too, was human still, 
and though she bore her pain like a martyr, she loved like 
a loving woman. 


CHAP. XV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


233 


Here ends such explanation and repetition as was 
needed to make clear what soon happened to her, to her 
husband, and to Castighone. After many months of 
quiet, when it seemed to Maria that nothing could ever 
happen again in her life beyond the daily round of dull 
misery, fate took up the action again with sudden and 
violent hands. 

The two met by accident for a few moments, quite 
alone. It was at a hotel, of all places in the world ; at a 
quiet and rather old-fashioned hotel which is patronised 
by the great of the earth when they come to Rome un- 
officially, for their own pleasure. A short time ago it 
was such a primitive place that the lift was small and 
was worked from below, hke most of those in Roman pri- 
vate houses. 

Now it happened that a certain young couple went to 
this hotel who were nearly related to the Count of Mont- 
alto on the Spanish side of his family, and who were of 
such exalted station that two smart officers were told off 
to be at their disposal and to show them the sights of 
Rome. One of these officers was Castighone. 

In the natural course of social events the Countess of 
Montalto had written her name in the book which people 
of such overwhelming importance keep at the porter’s 
lodge in hotels where they stop, because cards cannot 
be left for them as for ordinary human beings, on account 
of their inconvenient greatness. On the following day 
the Countess was informed that she would be received at 
five o’clock, and at three minutes to five her carriage 
stopped at the door. The footman informed the porter 


234 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


that her Excellency the Countess of Montalto came to see 
their Highnesses, and at the same instant Castighone, 
who was on duty, and in uniform, presented himself to 
conduct the Countess upstairs. 

It was rather a tr3dng moment, for he had not been 
told who was coming, and he was the last person whom 
Maria expected to see there. As the footman opened the 
carriage door Castighone put forward his arm to help 
her out, and she laid her hand upon it as hghtly and in- 
differently as she could, but a thrill ran through her to her 
very feet, and she felt how he stiffened his arm lest it 
should shake. After the first glance of recognition they 
avoided each other’s eyes. 

The porter stalked solemnly before them to the lift, 
and a moment later they were alone together in a space 
so small that they could hardly keep from touching, 
while the cage began to ascend with that extreme slow- 
ness which characterises the old-fashioned Roman con- 
trivances. Maria sat on the narrow little seat, feeling 
that she dared not look up; Castighone stood upright, 
squeezing his square shoulders as far back into the corner 
as he could, and holding his right hand on the handle 
of the sliding door. He breathed audibly, and the hft 
crawled upwards. 

It was almost unbearable for them both. To speak 
indifferently was utterly impossible, and silence meant too 
much. Just as they were reaching the first floor, Maria 
rose quickly, expecting to be let out; but the cage did 
not stop. 

They were face to face now, and very near together, 


CHAP. XV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


235 


so that Castiglione distinctly felt her sharply drawn 
breath as she looked up at him. 

‘It is the next floor/ he said unsteadily, for he could 
not take his eyes from her now. 

The meeting had been too sudden, too close; Maria 
could not bear it, but Castiglione would have let his 
right hand be cut off at the wrist, as it held the door, 
rather than have moved it towards her. With the other 
he held his sabre close to his left side, and his blue eyes 
gazed hungrily into hers. A moment more and the hft 
would stop; there was only that moment left, for, with- 
out looking away from him, she was aware of the landing 
just overhead. Then she spoke. 

‘ I love you more than ever ! ’ 

The words came to him in a fierce whisper. She had 
never spoken in that way, even in days of the short 
sweet dream that was all he had left. His answer was 
in his eyes, and in the sudden pallor that overspread his 
face, the ghastly white pallor of fair men who are deeply 
moved. 

Then the lift stopped, the door slid sideways in its 
grooves, and he was leading the way through a wide corri- 
dor under the electric fight. Maria was not pale just 
then; there was a little dark red flush in each cheek, 
for shame at what she had done. 

Her visit was soon over, she hardly knew how, and 
when she came out Castiglione was not to be seen. A 
servant offered to call for the lift, but she refused it and 
almost ran down the stairs in her haste to get out of the 
hotel. A quarter of an hour later she was alone in her 


236 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


boudoir, sitting before the small wood fire with her 
elbows on her knees and her chin supported on her 
clasped hands. 

She was terrified when she thought of what she had 
done, and an unreasoning fear of the future took posses- 
sion of her. She felt that she had broken her solemn 
promise and betrayed her husband’s unbounded faith 
in her ; for she knew how she had spoken the half-dozen 
words, and that if Castighone had taken her into his 
arms then, her lips would have met his instantly, will- 
ingly, passionately. It had not been possible there; 
but if they had been in another place, could she have 
blamed him as she blamed herself? And by and by, 
when it was late, perhaps she would hear the familiar 
knock at her unlocked door, and the lips that had spoken 
those fierce little whispered words to the man she loved 
would have to say ‘ Come in ’ to the man whom she was 
pledged to honour. That was the sum and result, after 
so many months of pain and prayer and self-abasement, 
by which she had hoped to rise heavenwards. If only 
the man had spoken first, she could have grasped at the 
straw of self-excuse, she could have deluded herself 
with the thought that she had been tempted. But he 
had been silent, he had stood quite still, only looking at 
her, brave against himself and constant to his phghted 
promise. It was she who had tempted him; that was 
what she had come to ! 

There was only one way now, she would tear the 
thought of him from her heart for ever, and trample out 
his memory as men stamp upon the embers of the camp 


CHAP. XV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


237 


fire when the wind rises, lest the dry grass be kindled, 
and they themselves be burnt to death in the storm of 
flame. It was well that Montalto had taken her back 
and that the dream had ended in that sharp agony; if 
there had been no such waking it would have turned 
into a reahty she shuddered to think of. 

She rose and went to her writing-table and opened a 
deep drawer. It was there that she kept the small locked 
desk she had used in Via San Martino, the one in which 
she had put away Castiglione’s letters, meaning to burn 
them. With them there was also that letter of her hus- 
band’s in which he had first spoken of reconciliation, 
and she had never opened the writing-case since she 
had placed it there. 

It had been spring when she had left the httle apart- 
ment, and there had been no fire in any of the rooms. 
The fireplaces were closed with painted boards, in the 
Itahan way, and she had not wished to excite her ser- 
vants’ curiosity by taking out the board and burning 
a quantity of papers on the clean hearth. Burnt paper 
leaves its unmistakable black ash behind it, and the ser- 
vants might guess that she had destroyed old love-letters 
before going back to her husband. Besides, she had 
thought them innocent then. She had thought that 
some day she might find comfort in reading them over and 
recalling the sweetest illusion of her life, the happy and 
innocent dream of a love grown pure and true in years of 
waiting and trial. The well-loved writing was dearer 
to her than she would confess even to herself. 

But those letters must be burnt now. She was alone. 


238 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


for Montalto was hardly ever at home at that hour, and 
Leone was busy at his late afternoon lesson with his 
tutor, after having been out till nearly sunset. The small 
fire was burning well, too, and it would be a matter of 
only two or three minutes to destroy everything ; and it 
must be done at once, while she felt the courage to do it. 

She hfted the case out of the drawer and set it on the 
table before her, turning up the shaded fight she used for 
writing. It was a little old desk that had belonged to her 
grandmother, made of ebony and inlaid with metal 
and mother-of-pearl in the happily forgotten taste of the 
Second Empire. It was of the old sloping shape, made 
so that when it was opened the upper part turned down 
in front, continuing the inclined plane to the level of the 
table, to give enough space for writing; it was one of 
those primitive attempts at a convenient travelling writ- 
ing-case which had seemed marvels of ingenuity in those 
days, and look so hopelessly clumsy to our modern eyes. 
But Maria’s grandmother had used it for many years, and 
it had a lock. Everything could be locked in those days, 
though most of the keys were absurdly simple. Maria 
looked at it, and remembered that the folding board was 
covered on the inside with very faded and threadbare 
purple velvet on which there were three or four inkstains; 
and when the outer cover was down the upper half of the 
folding board made a second fid which could be turned 
down on the first, and there was a little silk tag fastened 
to it, by which it could be moved. Under this second 
fid was the body of the desk, a space large enough to 
contain a good many papers. 


CHAP. XV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


239 


Maria sat at the table with the case before her, and her 
hands upon it. She meant to burn all the letters, except 
Montalto’s, without reading them. That would be the 
only way, and it would not take more than two or three 
minutes; yet she hesitated, though she had already 
taken the little key from the chain on which she had 
always carried it. 

Might she not at least think for the last time of those 
dear words? They had been quite innocent. If worse 
had come to worst she would have shown them even to 
her husband. They were not eloquent, for Castiglione 
had small gift for writing. They were not the rough 
and uncouth love-letters that such a man might have 
written ; for the very essence of the lost dream had been 
that it was to ignore the earthly love and look forward to 
the spiritual. He had tried to follow whither she meant 
to lead, and what he had written was the sincere effort, the 
pathetically imperfect effort, to see something heavenly 
through eyes not used to call up the unreal in visions. 

She remembered well the awkward wording of his sen- 
tences, and the way he had groped at the meaning of what 
seemed so clear to her. He could understand whatever 
had to do with honour, with courage, and even with sacri- 
fice, if it were for her sake. But heavenly things were quite 
beyond him, and even the earthly paradise she had tried 
to show him seemed very complicated. Yet he would try 
to make himself comprehend it because all her thoughts 
were beautiful, and because she had taught him where 
true honour lay, in honouring her honour, and in kneel- 
ing at the shrine of her purity, he, a poor material man. 


240 


A LADY OF HOME 


PART n 


Her purity! She remembered how the word had 
looked in his bold handwriting ; and though she was alone, 
the flush of shame rose and burned her cheek, so that 
she laid the back of her cold hand to the spot to cool 
it ; for her own words were whispered again in her ears. 

That echo decided her. There was no time to be lost. 
It had all been a lie from the day when he had come to her 
pretty booth at the Kermess. Such dreams were inven- 
tions of the devil, and nothing but rank poison. She 
loved Castiglione more than ever, as woman loves man, 
fiercely, desperately, very sinfully, very shamefully. 
That was what her whisper had told him plainly enough. 
Her cold hands pressed her burning cheeks again, but 
there was no hesitation left. She was alone, the fire was 
burning, and surely no one would disturb her during the 
next five minutes. 

She thrust the small key into the lock and turned it. 
It stuck a httle and she pushed it in and out, and turned 
it to the right and left with almost feverish haste, till 
she heard the click of the tiny bolt, and she lifted the 
folding board towards her on the table. Her fingers 
sought the little faded silk tag by which the second hd 
was to be hfted, but it must have been jammed in when 
she had last shut the case. She took the first thing that 
lay under her hand, a sharp steel letter-opener in the 
shape of a sword, and she forced the point a little way in 
between the lid and the edge of the ebony case, pressing 
hard on the little gold hilt. The lid flew up suddenly 
on its hinges and fell forwards towards her. 

Then her heart failed her. The desk was empty. 


CHAP. XV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


241 


She uttered a sort of faltering little cry, and she fell 
back in her chair with starting eyes and parted hps, her 
hands still grasping the open hd. In the wild confusion 
of her horror and the frantic effort of her memory to re- 
call something that had never been, she was mad for a 
moment. Had she burnt everything and forgotten? 
Or had she put the papers in some safer place, and lost 
all recollection of what she had done ? 

That was impossible. She never forgot what she did, 
and she had thought too often of the letters not to be 
sure that she had last seen them there. Some one 
had forced the desk and taken them. The key had not 
turned easily, as it had always turned, because somebody 
had tampered with the lock. The little silk tag of the 
inner hd had been jammed inside by a hand unfamihar 
with it. The details flashed upon her quickly, and in 
half a minute she understood that she had forgotten noth- 
ing. She had left the letters in the desk, and they were 
no longer there. Some one had stolen them all, and her 
husband’s letter with them. 

She grew slowly cold with fear as she closed the empty 
desk and put it into the drawer again ; and once more 
that hideous thought rose up and tormented her. Mont- 
alto had come back to be revenged upon her for his 
wrongs, slowly and surely; and that was not all, for he 
had come secretly to her room when she was out of the 
house and had stolen her letters, for a weapon against her 
if he needed one. 

Who else in the house would have dared to take them ? 


CHAPTER XVI 


Such a thought could have no real hold upon Maria, 
and she put it away angrily, as unworthy and ungenerous, 
even in an extremity which might have excused her for 
suspecting some innocent person. It was much more 
likely, she soon told herself, that she had been robbed by 
some servant in the house, who would sooner or later 
attempt to blackmail her by threatening to show the 
letters to her husband. As for knowing even approxi- 
mately when the theft had taken place, that was im- 
possible. She had opened the writing-case for the last 
time in May, and nearly eight months had now elapsed. 
It was one of the objects she had formerly always locked 
up in a closet in Via San Martino when she left Rome 
for the summer. This year she had put it into the deep 
drawer of her new writing-table, which had an Enghsh 
patent lock, and she had taken the key with her to the 
country; but she knew that patent locks always had 
two keys when they were new, and it occurred to her 
now that she had never seen the second. Since she had 
been in Rome again she had not even locked the drawer, 
and had felt safe in carrying only the key of the desk 
itself. It was impossible to say when it had been opened, 
and she realised at once how useless it was to waste 
time and thought in trying to detect the thief; 

242 


CHAP. XVI 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


243 


He would reveal himself when he wanted the money. 
She felt sme that money only had been his object in 
steahng the letters, for she could not imagine that any 
one should have done it for mere hatred of her. 

The question was whether the thief would demand 
his price from her or from Montalto. Most probably 
he would write first to her, for he would know that she 
had some independent fortune. She would give anything 
he asked, even if he asked for all she had. 

But, on the other hand, he might go directly to her 
husband. The thought appalled her; the catastrophe 
might happen at any moment ; it had perhaps happened 
already, that very day, since she had seen Montalto, and 
she would see the change in his face when they met at 
dinner; afterwards, when they were alone, he would 
bring his accusation against her, and it would be a more 
bitter one than the first had been, long ago. Her shame 
would be greater, too, before the world when he left her 
the second time and for ever, and the final ruin of his 
life would be upon her soul. 

She wished she had told him everything when she had 
spoken , of her meeting with Castiglione; but she had 
judged it wiser not to say more, for she had felt innocent 
of all evil then, and the knowledge that many letters 
had been exchanged would have sorely disturbed her 
husband’s peace. He would have answered her that she 
should have written him all the truth before he came 
home. If she had only done that, he might never have 
returned to claim her. Yet this thought was evil, too, 
now that she had said those words to Castiglione in the 


244 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


lift, and she must kill the memory of her lover in her 
heart if she had the least respect left for herself, or for 
her husband's honour, or for God's right. 

Even now it would be better to throw herself upon 
Montalto's mercy and confess the truth before the thief 
wrote to him. She would rather tell it all, against herself, 
than let him learn it suddenly, brutally, from the vile 
letter in which the blackmailer would make his demand. 
It would be easier for Montalto too. At least he would 
be warned; at least, if he chose to cast her off again, 
she would have given him the weapon, the right, and 
the opportunity. Yes, it would be better so. 

The brave thought took possession of her quickly. 
She believed she saw the right course before her, in the 
clear light of a good inspiration. Perhaps Montalto had 
come home already, though it was only six o'clock and 
he rarely came in before seven. She now recollected that 
Giuliana Parenzo and Monsignor Saracinesca were com- 
ing to dinner. When her husband told her that he had 
asked Don Ippolito to dine, she generally telephoned 
to Giuhana to come if she could. The two men often 
engaged in endless discussions about the relations of 
Church and State, during the evening; the layman be- 
lieved in the dream of restoring the temporal power of 
the Pope, the chiu'chman did not, and had a patriotic 
affection for his country and a belief in its future, which 
made Montalto tremble for his salvation. At first 
Maria had derived some amusement from this anomalous 
situation, but when she had occasionally ventured to 
put in a word for the new order of things, Montalto had 


CHAP. XVI 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


245 


been visibly displeased. After that she had resorted 
to the device of asking Giuliana, with whom she could 
talk quietly at one end of the drawing-room while her 
husband and his friend carried on their unending argu- 
ment at the other. Incidentally, she often wondered 
how such a broad-minded man as Don Ippolito could 
be so sincerely attached to such a prejudiced one as 
Montalto. 

To-night she would have to wait till the Canon and the 
Marchesa were gone before she could speak to her hus- 
band. It would be very unwise to tell him her story 
before dinner, though she felt an intense desire to un- 
burden herself of it at once. She wondered how she 
should get through the evening, from eight o’clock till 
half-past ten or eleven, without betraying her distress; 
but to her own surprise she found herself growing calmer 
and cooler than she could have thought it possible for 
her to be. She was in something more than trouble; 
she was in danger from an unknown and dastardly hand, 
and she was naturally brave enough to be calmer at such 
a moment than under the strain of any purely mental 
suffering. 

She was conscious of impatience more than of fear or 
want of strength, for she was going to do the only thing 
that was brave and right and truthful, and after that such 
consequences might come as must. 

She put the empty desk away in the drawer, and after 
a moment’s hesitation she unlocked the door of the pas- 
sage that led to the chapel, opening it with one hand 
as she moved the key to turn up the electric Hght ; she 


246 


A LADY OF HOME 


PART n 


entered, shut the door after her, and went forwards, 
absorbed in her thoughts. 

Before she was half-way down the long straight part 
of the passage, after the corner, the lights went out. She 
stood still in momentary surprise and then turned back. 
The electric light had been put in by a German company, 
and the keys were httle flat levers that were kept in place 
by a spring. Maria thought she had perhaps not pushed 
the one at the boudoir door quite far enough to set it, 
and that it had sprung back of itself and cut off the cur- 
rent. She retraced her steps, following the smooth 
varnished wall with her hand till she reached the familiar 
corner, and then her own door. She pushed the lever 
both ways but no light came, so she concluded that an 
accident had happened to the wires just when she was 
half-way through the passage. 

There were no candles in the room, but she ht a wax 
taper she used for sealing notes. It was a long and thick 
one, rolled on itself and fitted into an old silver stand 
with a handle hke a candlestick, and it gave a very fair 
hght. She threw the match into the fire, entered the 
passage again, and made her way towards the chapel. 
She went in and set the taper-stand on the marble floor 
beside her as she knelt down in the place which was 
always hers. 

Three small silver lamps, fed with pure olive oil and 
hanging from the arch over the altar, shed a feeble light 
which was considerably strengthened by that from the 
taper. The ugly barocco angels and stucco work cast 
queer shadows above the altar and the walls, but Maria 


CHAP. XVI 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


247 


did not even glance at them and bent her head down over 
her clasped hands. The chapel had often been her 
refuge and her place of peace, since she had first come 
there long before dawn in the night that followed her 
husband’s return. 

As she knelt there now in the silence and gloom she 
was thinking, rather than trying to say any prayer; 
she was going over in her mind the things she must say 
to be quite truthful. She was recalling the words she 
had once said to Castiglione, the two innocent kisses 
she had received from him, the promises both had given 
and both had kept until to-day; and in the presence of 
the mortal danger that was hanging over her now, she 
felt that the whispered words of love she had spoken that 
afternoon were perhaps but a small matter compared 
with it ; a sin that concerned her own soul only, to be 
confessed, repented of, and forgiven in time, whereas the 
main great matters were her husband’s honour and the 
happiness she had tried so hard to give him in all ways. 

If only she could make him see the truth as she had 
seen it, he would understand and still forgive; and her 
fortune could buy back the evidence of what had been 
no real betrayal of his honour. If only she could tell 
her true story as she knew it, that would be the result. 

She started as she knelt, and looked round in the dim- 
ness, with the sudden conviction that she was not alone. 
Her hearing and sight were very keen, but she was not 
aware of having heard any sound or seen any moving 
shadow in the chapel. The certainty had come upon her 
all at once, instinctively, she knew not how. 


248 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


There was nothing to be seen, but she listened intently 
with bent head. A moment later she looked up again, 
for she had heard something. Some one was breathing 
not far from her, and it was that soft and regular sound 
that had warned her before she was aware that she heard it. 

Her first impulse was to rise and search the chapel 
with her taper, but it occurred to her that Montalto 
might have come there to say his prayers, and might 
be kneeling somewhere out of sight, behind one of the 
pillars that supported the arch. He had perhaps heard 
her enter, and had not wished to disturb her by betraying 
his presence. In his slow way he was very thoughtful 
for her. She would go away now, and not let him 
know that she had heard him breathing. 

But perhaps, again, if he were really present, there 
could be no better time or place for telling him her story 
and appeahng to his kindness. Her impatience to do 
that turned the scale. 

^ Diego, are you here ? ^ she asked softly. 

There was no answer, but the breathing ceased for a 
moment and then the unseen person drew a longer 
breath. Maria felt a little thrill that was not fear; it 
was more hke resentment. She took the taper from the 
floor and rose to her feet. 

^Who is here?^ she asked in a louder tone. 

Still there was no answer. Perhaps, after all, it was 
only a cat that had slipped in when the chapel was being 
swept, and had gone to sleep. Maria moved towards the 
altar, shading the light from her eyes with her hand and 
peering over it into the gloom. She spoke as she walked. 


CHAP. XVI 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


249 


hear you breathing. Show yourself, whoever you 
are ! Come forward at once ! ’ 

She spoke authoritatively and coolly, though at that 
very moment something told her that the intruder might 
be a thief who had come to steal the famous relic of the 
Cross that was preserved under the altar. She looked 
first to the right and then to the left, and there, flattened 
against the wall in the shadow of the pilaster, she saw 
the figure of a man. Without hesitating a moment she 
went straight towards him. When he understood that 
he was caught he came forward at last, and the fight of 
the taper showed her the face of Orlando Schmidt, the 
steward. 

Maria stopped two paces from him. 

^What are you doing here at this hour?^ she asked 
sternly. 

She had never before seen him pale; he was white 
round the lips now. 

beg your Excellency's pardon,’ he said with a glib- 
ness that did not at all agree with his looks, ‘I came to see 
about some work that is to be done, and when you entered 
I hid myself in order not to disturb your Excellency’s 
devotions.’ 

The Countess held the small fight higher and scrutinised 
his face thoughtfully. 

^You are not telling the truth,’ she said with great 
calmness. ^What were you doing here?’ 

^What I have told you. Signora Contessa,’ he an- 
swered stubbornly. 

^ There is no work to be done here,^ returned Maria, 


250 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


her tone growing hard and clear. ^ The Count and I have 
talked of the chapel recently. If you do not at once tell 
me what brings you here, with no hght at this hour, I 
shall go to the door and call.^ 

The chapel opened into the ante-chamber, of which 
the door was generally open to the outer hall, where a 
footman was always stationed. 

^Your Excellency is quite welcome,^ said Schmidt, 
and his coolness almost convinced Maria that he had 
told the truth. 

Yet his face was very white and his eyes showed his 
inward fear. 

^Take care,’ Maria said. ^The Count has told me how 
he forgave you once. I do not wish to ruin you, but un- 
less you tell the truth I shall call some one. You have 
either taken the relic from under the altar or you came 
here to take it.’ 

^You are mistaken, Signora Contessa,’ the man an- 
swered obstinately; Hhe rehc is in its place. You may 
see for yourself.’ 

^Then give me the keys, for you have them in your 
pocket.’ 

M have not. Excellency.’ 

M do not beheve you.’ 

Maria held the light so that she could see him while 
she moved quickly towards the large door. 

M am going to call the servants,’ she said, ^and they 
shall search your pockets.’ 

Schmidt attempted to smile. 

^ Your Excellency cannot be in earnest,’ he managed to 


CHAP. XVI 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


251 


say, but his teeth were chattering and he was perfectly 
livid. 

The Countess laid her hand on the lock. It could be 
opened from within by a handle, but required a latch-key 
to open it from the other side. She watched Schmidt 
steadily and began to turn the knob. He looked roimd 
in a scared way, as if hoping to see some means of escape, 
and her fingers slowly turned the handle of the door. At 
the last second he broke down. 

^For God’s sake. Excellency!’ he cried, in utmost 
fear. H have taken nothing ! I swear it on the altar, 
on the Sacrament ’ 

^Do not blaspheme,’ said the Coimtess quietly, and 
she let the latch spring softly back into its place. Hf you 
had not something about you which you have stolen, you 
would not be so frightened at the idea of being searched.’ 

Ht is the disgrace before the servants ’ 

^That is absurd. If nothing is found on you, the 
blame will fall on me. You must make up your mind in- 
stantly whether you will throw yourself on my mercy 
and show me what you have taken, or whether the men 
shall search you.’ 

Her hand moved to the lock again, and Schmidt read 
in her face that her patience was exhausted. A southern 
Italian would have become dramatic at this point, and 
would probably have fallen on his knees, tearing his hair 
and shedding real tears. But Schmidt was from the 
north, and practically an Austrian. He was a thief, 
he saw that he was caught, and he made the best of the 
situation at once. 


252 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


'Then I appeal to your Excellency’s generosity/ he 
said quietly. 'I have not touched the relic, and what I 
took some time ago I had come to restore when you found 
me here.’ 

He produced from his pocket a square package, done 
up in a clean sheet of white paper, without string. He 
handed it to her. 

'You will find here seven letters from the Conte del 
Castiglione,’ he said, 'and one from his Excellency. I 
took them from your writing-case three weeks ago, and I 
was going to put them back this evening while you were 
at dinner. I heard you coming and I could not go out 
by the ante-chamber without being seen. So I cut the 
wire of the fight and hid myself.’ 

Maria’s hand had closed upon the precious packet 
while he spoke. 

'You?’ she cried at last. She was almost speechless 
with amazement. 'You took them?’ 

'Yes, Signora Contessa, and I give them back and im- 
plore your pardon.’ 

'Why did you take them if it was not to extract money 
from me ?’ Maria asked, recovering her presence of mind 
quickly. 

In the storm of her distress she felt as if a wave had 
lifted her up and had set her high on the shore, and at 
the first moment she was more amazed at the man’s 
audacity than angry at what he had done. 

'Signora Contessa,’ he said, 'the story the Count told 
you is true ; since he forgave me, there is nothing I will 
not do for him, his interest, and his honour. I did your 


CHAP. XVI 


THE COUJNTESS OF MONTALTO 


253 


Excellency the great injustice of suspecting that you 
still corresponded with the Signor Conte del Castiglione. 
I have read the letters and I have observed the dates. 
I was wrong. If you think it wise to disturb my mas- 
ter's peace by teUing him what I have done, I must sub- 
mit and bear his displeasure. He will turn me out for 
having dared to play detective and spy upon the Signora 
Contessa in his own house, for his confidence in you is 
absolute. Will your Excellency verify the contents of 
the package? I will hold the taper, if you will allow 
me.' 

Maria felt as if she were in a dream, half good, half evil. 
She opened the packet while Schmidt held the light, and 
she quickly made sure that none of the letters were miss- 
ing and that each was complete ; that was soon done, 
for Castighone had rarely filled more than one sheet in 
writing to her. 

She laid them all together again and took the taper- 
stand from the steward without a word. It was all a 
dream. If he had been a villain, he might have had her 
fortune for what he was freely giving back to her ; but 
he had nothing. He had not even begged her not to tell 
her husband what had happened. It was incompre- 
hensible beyond all explanation ; but one fact remained : 
she had recovered the letters of which the loss had nearly 
driven her mad, within an hour of finding that they had 
been stolen. That was the main thing, and nothing else 
mattered much for a while. 

^ You have a singular way of serving your master,' she 
said, as she reached the door of the passage ; ^ but since 


254 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


you have appealed to my generosity, I shall say nothing 
to the Count/ 

'I am most grateful to your Excellency/ 

He opened the door and held it back while she passed 
in, and when he had shut it after her he heard the bolt 
pushed into its slot. Then at last he smiled, for though 
a bolt is generally considered to be a sohd fastening for 
the inside of a door, this one could easily be moved from 
without by an unobtrusive httle brass button, no bigger 
than a pea, that moved along a sht narrow enough to 
pass unnoticed. 

Schmidt waited in the chapel two horns. YNHien he 
knew that the family was at dinner, he opened the passage 
door noiselessly and twisted together the ends of the wire 
he had cut. He had been badly frightened, but things 
had ended well enough; better for him than for the 
Coimtess, he thought. 


CHAPTER XVII 


Nothing happened during the next week; nothing, 
that is to say, which can be chronicled as an event. But 
the determination which Maria had formed after her 
chance meeting with Castighone gained strength con- 
tinually. She went to confession at last, and it was a 
bitter satisfaction to be told that she was in mortal sin 
because she had whispered those few loving words in the 
weakness of an instant; she was reminded that if the 
mere wish to kill was almost as bad as the intention, and 
that the intention was murder and nothing else, it fol- 
lowed that the most passing wish to be united with any 
man but her husband was a betrayal of her marriage vow 
only a httle less grave than the worst. She replied that 
she knew it was. She was warned that she must uproot 
from her heart every memory of the man she had loved, 
if she hoped to be forgiven. She bowed her head and 
answered that she wished with all her soul to do so, and 
was trying with all her might to succeed. 

She had gone once more to the terrible old Capuchin, 
because she knew what he would say, and wished to hear 
him say it. Though the name of Padre Bonaventura 
was known to her and to many, he did not know her 
and had never seen her face ; it was before God that she 
accused herself and abased herself, and promised to do 
265 


256 


A LADY OF HOME 


PART n 


better, and most earnestly prayed for help. The monk 
remembered her without knowing who she was, and be- 
fore he pronounced the absolution she implored, he said 
what he believed it his duty to say. It was a short, 
harsh homily on the abominable wickedness of the rich 
and great, who were so much better taught and so much 
more carefully brought up than the poor and the igno- 
rant, and therefore so much the more responsible for 
their thoughts and actions. The sin of the noble lady 
was a thousand times greater than the fault of the un- 
lettered hill- woman. Why should a lady of Rome expect 
to be forgiven more easily than a peasant ? 

To this also Maria bent her head, and said she came to 
confession as a sinful woman, with no thought of her own 
station in hfe; and at last the Capuchin was satisfied. 
While she was kneeling in the quiet church just after- 
wards, he came out of his box and went away, and she 
watched him, remembering how he had stalked awaCy, in 
righteous indignation, with his grim old head in the air, 
after she had come to him the first time. But now he 
walked quietly and slowly, looking down ; and before he 
disappeared he knelt before the altar a few moments. 
She knew that he was praying for her, as a good confessor 
does for each penitent, and she was humbly grateful. 
Even in her inmost consciousness she did not think criti- 
cally of what he had said, nor find fault with his scant 
knowledge of great ladies^ hearts. 

She did not think she had ‘risen higher^ now. Her 
attempt to rise by the purification of her earthly love 
had been a wretched failure. Henceforth she would 


CHAP. XVII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


257 


dream no dreams of that sort ; not once, in years to come, 
would she willingly dwell on thoughts of Baldassare del 
Castiglione. 

It was half-past five o'clock when she reached her home 
again, and on the way another resolution had formed 
itself, on which she acted at once. She determined to 
tell her husband everything that had happened before 
he had come back. Her reason was a practical one, 
strong enough to warrant the risk she was about to take; 
for she now distrusted the man Schmidt, who might at 
any moment turn against her and use the knowledge he 
had obtained, and ruin Montalto's hfe by placing her 
in an utterly false light. It was only natural that the 
steward should hate her, since she had caught him in the 
chapel, and before long he would try to get rid of her. 
Yet she was thinking less of herself now than of Mont- 
alto. 

She sent for her husband's valet, and told him to beg 
the Count to come to her as soon as he returned. 

An hour later he entered the boudoir, looking rather 
pale and tired, as she thought. Her resolution wavered 
for a moment, but soon returned when she remembered 
the man who had stolen her secret, and who might so 
terribly misrepresent it. That thought had hindered 
her from burning the letters as soon as they were again 
in her possession, and she had put them away in her 
jewel-case. 

She made Montalto sit down near the small fire, and, 
to his surprise, she locked the door that led into the ball- 
room before she seated herself beside him. 
s 


258 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


‘We might be interrupted/ she said, in explanation. 

‘What is the matter, my dear?^ her husband asked. 

‘I have something to tell you,^ she answered. ‘You 
must be patient with me, Diego. You must try to under- 
stand, though it will be hard. I thought I was doing 
right, but after a long time I am quite sure that it was 
wrong. ^ 

‘My dear Maria,’ Montalto said, ‘if your intention was 
good, you did nothing wrong. You only made a mis- 
take.’ 

‘Thank you.’ She was grateful for the trite words, 
because she knew that he meant them. ‘When you 
came home,’ she continued after a short time, ‘I told you 
that I had seen Baldassare, and that we had parted 
for ever. You said we need not speak of him again.’ 

‘Yes.’ Montalto’s face became very grave as he 
nodded and looked at the fire. 

‘What I told you was true,’ she went on. ‘The last 
time we met, we agreed never to see each other again if 
we could avoid it. That was quite true. But it gave 
you a wrong impression. You may have thought that 
after you had gone away to five in Spain we had only met 
that once.’ 

Montalto looked at her with a startled expression, 
but she met his eyes quietly and honestly. 

‘No, Diego,’ she said at once, ‘I did nothing that I 
thought wrong or felt ashamed of.’ 

He turned to the fire with a sigh of relief, but did not 
speak. 

‘He came to Rome a month or more before your 


CHAP. XVII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


259 


mother died/ she continued. had not seen him 
since — since that time — you know — long before you 
first went to your mother. We met by accident. They 
had persuaded me to take one of the booths at Kermess 
in the Villa, and he appeared quite unexpectedly. You 
believe me, don’t you, Diego?’ 

Montalto turned to her and spoke very slowly. 

shall beheve every word you tell me. You never 
told me an untruth in your fife.’ 

^ No, never. But I thank you for trusting me now. It 
is not every man that would. After he came back’ — 
she was careful not to mention Castighone’s name after 
the first time — ^ I saw him again and again ; I thought 
I hated him, Diego, but I loved him still.’ 

It was hard to say, but perhaps it was harder to hear. 
Yet her husband had never known how she had deceived 
herself into believing that she hated Castighone, and he 
did not turn upon her as she had expected. His head 
sank a little, but he was still watching the burning logs. 

^Do you love him now?’ he asked with an effort. 

^ I have promised on my knees and before God to tear 
every thought of him from my heart.’ 

There was no mistaking her tone. 

^That is enough,’ he answered. 'No one can ask more 
than that of you.’ 

A short silence followed. 

'Is that all, my dear?’ he asked presently in a kind 
tone. 

'No. There is more, and it will be harder to under- 
stand, perhaps, though it will be easier to say. I found 


260 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


him greatly changed after all those years; changed for 
the better, I mean. Then I let myself believe that we 
could love each other innocently for the rest of our lives, 
and do no wrong, not even to you.^ 

^Not even to me.' There was a sudden bitterness in 
Montalto's voice as he repeated the words. 

did not think you loved me still, Diego. You had 
not forgiven me then. I felt that my only duty to you 
was to bear your name without more reproach, and I did 
that. There was not a word breathed against me in 
those years. You know how I hved, and I had no secret ; 
what the world knew was all there was to be known. 
But when he came back I began to dream of something 
innocent — that seemed possible.' 

The last sentence choked her a httle. Montalto turned 
to her. 

^Do you regret your dream now? Do you wish it 
back?' he asked sorrowfully. 

‘No!' she said with sudden vehemence. ‘It was not 
right, it was wrong ! It was not innocent, it was a temp- 
tation ! It is gone. I will never think of it again, nor of 
him, if God will help me to forget.' 

‘I am tr3dng to help you, too, Maria.' 

The words cut her to the quick. He meant them so 
truly, he spoke them so humbly, he loved her so dearly ; 
yet she felt her flesh creep at his touch and shrank under 
his least caress, do what she could. 

‘I know you are, Diego,' she managed to say, and then 
she collected her strength to tell what was left. ‘It 
lasted a month or six weeks altogether,' she said, going 


CHAP. XVII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


261 


on quickly. ^He had exchanged into another regiment 
in order not to be quartered in Rome. He was in Milan 
then, and he was here on a short leave. He ap- 
phed to be allowed to come back to the Piedmont Lan- 
cers. While he was in Milan we wrote to each other. 
We promised to be faithful and innocent; we told each 
other that we would love as spirits love, and meet in 
heaven. Then your mother died, and you wrote me 
that first long letter, and I answered it ; and on the same 
day I wrote to him and told him he must not come to 
Rome, that we must never see each other again because 
you were going to take me back. But it was too late, 
the matter had been settled already, and he had to 
come.^ 

^Of course,’ said Montalto, in a dull tone, when she 
paused. 

‘ I sent for him then. That was the last time, the time 
I told you of. He came, and we said good-bye.’ 

A long pause followed, and Montalto did not move. 

Hs that all you wished to tell me ? ’ he asked at length. 

‘1 let him kiss my cheek twice,’ Maria said, very low. 

This time her husband turned towards her quickly, 
and she saw how very pale he was. 

^Was that when you parted?’ 

'No ! Oh, no ! It was in those first few days when 
he was here on leave.’ 

Montalto seemed relieved, and his face softened; he 
was still looking at her, but he did not speak. 

'Can you forgive me that?’ she asked. 

'You meant no harm,’ he said. 'You were not think- 


262 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


ing of doing any wrong, you were only dreaming of an 
impossible good. There is nothing to forgive.^ 

^ Ah, how good you are to me ! How very, very good ! ’ 

Ht is only justice, and I love you. How can I be un- 
just to you when I see how hard you are trying to do 
right 

^You are one of the best men that ever lived,’ said 
Maria, and for a few seconds she covered her face with 
her hands. ^Only tell me,’ she continued presently, 
looking up, 'you know all my story now — have I hurt 
you very much?’ 

'A httle, my dear, but it is over already. Think of 
what I should have felt if you had not told me these 
things, and if some enemy, who knew, had told them as 
an enemy might ! ’ 

He, who was often so dull, seemed to have divined her 
inmost intention. She rose from her seat. 

'What is it?’ he asked, moving to stand up. 

'Wait a moment !’ 

She went into her dressing-room and returned almost 
instantly, bringing a large envelope. He was seated 
again and she stood between him and the fireplace, facing 
him. 

'He wrote me seven letters,’ she said. 'Here they 
are. I give them into your hands. Read them, and 
you will understand better.’ 

He took the envelope and held it a moment, looking 
up to her face with a gentle smile. 

'Thank you, my dear,’ he said. 'I do not need any 
proofs in order to believe you.’ 


CHAP. XVII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


263 


He rose then and tried to pass her, to reach the fire, 
evidently meaning to burn the letters at once. 

The tears came suddenly to her eyes without overflow- 
ing, as they did sometimes when she was much moved 
by a generous word or deed, but she caught at his arm 
as he was in the act of tossing the letters into the flames. 
The envelope left his hand but fell short and lay on the 
pohshed tiles of the hearth. Maria stooped and picked 
it up. 

^ No,’ sh? said quickly, ^ you must not burn them yet. I 
know you trust me now, but there is that other possibility. 
Some enemy of yours or mine may say that we wrote to 
each other. You must be able to answer that you have 
the real letters in your keeping.’ 

^That is true,’ said Montalto, and he took the envelope 
back from her. ‘1 will seal it and put it away.’ 

He went to her writing-table, and she followed him to 
fight the little taper in its silver stand and to place the 
sealing wax before him when he had sat down. He 
melted it slowly and spread a broad patch upon the over- 
lapping point of the envelope, working the wax neatly 
round and round till it stiffened, and then putting on 
more with a little flame, and working it over till the patch 
softened again. 

^Your seal is not ready,’ said Maria, glancing at the 
ring on his finger. ^The wax will get cold.’ 

He said nothing, but when he was ready he took her 
own seal, which lay beside the taper-stand, and pressed 
it upon the wax. When he lifted it, there was a clear 
impression of Maria’s simple monogram, the doubled 


264 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART 11 


letter that began both her names, encircled by a little 
belt, on which were engraved the words ^Risurgi e Vinci’ 
— meaning ^Rise again and overcome.’ They are from 
the Paradiso of Dante. 

Once more her eyes grew dim with gratitude, for she 
knew what he meant by using her seal ; there was not 
to be even the possibility of a doubt in her mind that he 
might ever open the packet. 

He took her pen and wrote on the back, in his stiff 
and formal handwriting. 

Hn case of my death, to be given to my wife at once.’ 

^Then you will burn it, my dear,’ he said, showing her 
what he had written. 

As she stood beside him her hand pressed hard upon 
his thin shoulder, for she was very much touched. He 
looked up, smihng, slipped the sealed envelope into his 
pocket and rose. 

‘ That is done,’ he said, ^ and we need never think of 
it again.’ 

‘You know what I feel,’ she answered softly. ‘I can- 
not say it.’ 

They went back to the fireplace and stood side by side 
gazing at the flames. He linked his arm through hers 
without looking at her, and she did not shrink from his 
touch, for she was thinking only of his kindness then. 
He pressed her arm to his side and then withdrew his 
own and looked at his watch. 

‘I must be going,’ he said. 

‘Stay a little longer,' said she, and it was the first time 
she had ever made such a request. 


CHAP. XVII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


265 


‘I wish I could. But there is a lawyer waiting for me, 
and I must see him before dinner.’ 

‘A lawyer ? Is anything wrong ? You looked a little 
tired when you came in. Has anything happened?’ 

‘Yes, my dear, and I wish your judgment were as 
good as your heart !’ He smiled. 

‘My judgment ? What do you mean ?’ 

‘Schmidt disappeared fom days ago, and we cannot 
find any trace of him.’ 

Maria was profoundly surprised. 

‘Has he taken money?’ she asked after a moment. 

‘ That is the question. So far we cannot find anything 
wrong with his books nor at the bank. But then he is so 
very “intelligent,” you know !’ 

He laughed a httle as he reminded his wife of their 
conversation at Montalto. It was evident that he did 
not anticipate any heavy loss. 

‘He was always a modest yoimg man,’ he continued. 
‘ I hope he has not taken more than a modest sum ! ’ 

He laughed again, at his own httle joke, as slow people 
do, and Maria laughed too, though rather nervously. 

‘I should be very sorry if the mistake I made about him 
caused you any annoyance,’ she said. 

‘ Chiefly the trouble of finding a good man to take his 
place,’ Montalto said. ‘The lawyer is waiting, my dear.’ 

He laid his hands on her shoulders before going away 
and looked into her eyes. She knew he was going to kiss 
her, and on any other day she might have smiled and 
turned away to hide the intense repugnance she felt for 
him. But that was impossible now ; she must not even 


266 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


let her lids droop; as if she did not wish to meet his gaze 
frankly. Many months ago, Ippohto Saracinesca had 
told her that in this world it is not enough to do right, 
but one must also be seen to be doing right. If her eyes 
had wavered just then, if she had shrunk from her hus- 
band’s kiss, there was just one possibiHty that a doubt 
of her truth might sooner or later creep out of some 
hiding-place in his memory to accuse her. 

But Maria was a woman, and women have quick ways 
which we do not anticipate. Instead of waiting, with 
her eyes in his, for him to bend down and kiss her, she 
put up her hands suddenly to draw his face to hers, and 
kissed him heartily on both cheeks; to his infinite de- 
fight, and not, we may hope, to the detriment of her 
truthfulness, her recent resolution, or her good faith in 
any way. For no one can be held responsible for a 
physical aversion. Many persons really suffer if a cat is 
in the room, and almost faint if the creature accidentally 
brushes against them. If any of them read these fines, 
they will understand, for that is what Maria felt for the 
man who was her husband, and who loved her almost to 
folly. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Two days later Maria received a letter from Naples, 
addressed in a round, commercial handwriting. It came 
with two or three others, of which she guessed the con- 
tents, and she opened it first from mere curiosity. No 
one had ever written her a business letter from Naples. 

The envelope contained two sheets of paper. She 
spread out one of them to read, but at the first glance she 
uttered an exclamation of horror; what she saw was a 
photographed copy of one of Castighone’s letters to her. 
Her fingers relaxed and the first sheet fluttered to the floor. 

The second lay on the writing-table, and when she 
could collect her senses she saw that it was a typewritten 
communication demanding the immediate payment of 
one hundred and fifty thousand francs, failing which, the 
photographed copies of seven letters written to her by 
the Conte del Castiglione would be reproduced and pub- 
lished simultaneously in two newspapers, in Rome and 
in Naples. The money was to be forthcoming within 
exactly eight days in the form of a cheque to the bearer 
from the National Bank, to be addressed to Signor Carlo 
Pozzi at the General Post Office in Palermo, not regis- 
tered. If it was not received within eight days, the 
Countess would be informed of the fact, and a duplicate 
of the cheque was to be sent, not registered, to Signor 
26 ^ 


268 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


Paolo Pizzuti at the General Post Office in Messina. If 
this were not received, the writer would take it for granted 
that the money had not been sent, and the letters 
would appear. The photographs were in safe hands, and 
would inevitably be published at once if any attempt 
were made to arrest the persons who apphed for the letters 
at the two post offices named, or if, subsequently, any 
steps were taken to trace the writer, either through the 
police or otherwise. 

Marians first impulse was to send the money at once. 
She had been alone in the world so long that she was used 
to keeping her own accounts, and she knew that she 
possessed more than the sum demanded, in the form of 
Government bonds. To take these to the National Bank 
and get a duplicate cheque in exchange for them would 
be a simple matter, and the affair would be at an end. 
For her, the amount was a large one, but since she had 
come back to her husband she had httle use for her own 
fortune, and did not spend her income. She would cer- 
tainly not miss the sum. Immediate surrender would 
save Montalto all anxiety and annoyance. 

But two objections to this course presented themselves 
almost immediately, the one of a moral nature, the other 
practical. Since she had told her husband everything, 
he had a right to be consulted. The original letters 
were in his possession, and no longer in hers; he had 
trusted her, and she must now go to him for advice, even 
if it troubled him, as it would, for if she did not consult 
him he would be justified in resenting her want of con- 
fidence in him. 


CHAP, xvni 


THE COUNTESS OF MONT ALTO 


269 


The second consideration was that Leone might some 
day need her money, for she had not the least idea of the 
contents of her husband’s will. Under Italian law he 
could not altogether disinherit a child born in wedlock, 
and even that moiety of his fortune which must come to 
Leone would be very large. But Maria felt sure that he 
was aware of the truth, and that many others suspected 
it ; and there were several collateral heirs to the Mont- 
alto estates, who would not hesitate to claim much more 
than the law would ever give them. Besides, there was 
Leone himself; who could tell by what ill chance he 
might some day learn the story of his birth ? If he ever 
did, she guessed the man from the boy, and guessed that 
her son would not keep an hour what was not universally 
admitted to be his. He would have nothing, then, but 
what she could leave him. 

Yet, if only this second reason had influenced 
her, she would not have hesitated to pay blackmail 
and be free. In the course of a few years, by spending 
little on herself, her fortune would recover from the sud- 
den demand on it. On the other hand, if she hid the 
truth from her husband, even to save him, and if he 
ever discovered it, he might resent the concealment 
bitterly. 

It was morning, and she went to his study at once, 
taking the papers with her, and she told him how Schmidt 
had stolen the letters and kept them some time, and how 
she had caught him just when he was bringing them back. 
It had never occurred to her that he had copied them, 
still less that he had photographed them. She begged 


270 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


her husband to let her send the money at once and end 
the matter. 

He had listened with a look of increasing annoyance, 
and she laid the sheets on the table before him when she 
had finished; but he pushed them back to her without 
glancing at them, for if he had done so he could hardly 
have helped reading some words of Castiglione’s letter. 

‘Tt is very well done,’ he said. ^Schmidt is a clever 
fellow. But if you had told me at once, he would have 
been in prison by this time. He disappeared on the third 
day after you found him in the chapel. You must not 
send the money on any account.’ 

Maria saw that he was more displeased than alarmed 
at a possible danger which looked very serious to her. 

‘I am very sorry,’ she said penitently. ‘What is to be 
done?’ 

‘I cannot tell. It is a matter, too, on which I cannot 
ask advice. There are things of which one does not 
wish to speak, even to a lawyer.’ 

He was evidently very much annoyed; but she saw 
that she had done right in coming to him, though it was 
perhaps too late. 

‘But something must be done !’ she protested. 

‘Of course we must do something,’ he answered, with 
manifest impatience. ‘But it is worse than useless 
to act hastily. Give me time ! I shall find a way.’ 

The words were not unkind, but his manner was petu- 
lant, like that of a nervous man who is interrupted when 
very busy, and is made to take a great deal of trouble 
against his inchnation. Montalto had always been in- 


CHAP, xvni 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


271 


clined to procrastinate, though he could show a good 
deal of energy when forced to act. 

‘Let me send the money, Diego,’ said Maria earnestly. 

‘ Certainly not. I forbid you to send it ! Do you 
understand?’ 

Maria shrank a little, for she was hurt by the words 
and the tone. Was not her money her own, to use as she 
pleased ? She checked a quick reply that rose to her hps. 

‘I shall obey you,’ she answered, an instant later, as 
quietly as she could. 

He was moving his papers nervously and aimlessly 
from place to place on the table, arranging and disar- 
ranging them, but he looked up quickly now. 

‘I did not mean to speak as I did, my dear,’ he said. 
‘Your money is yours, and you will never need it again. 
You have a right to use it as you will. The truth is, I 
am occupied with a very comphcated question. Forgive 
me, if I was rude.’ 

‘ Diego ! ’ She stretched her hand out on the smooth 
table, instantly reconciled. 

He patted it twice, and smiled rather absently. But 
he was evidently preoccupied, and she rose to go. 

‘We will talk over this unfortunate affair after lunch- 
eon,’ he said. ‘Will you take me for a drive? It will 
be easy to talk in the carriage.’ 

‘Yes, we will go for a drive,’ she answered. 

Standing by the table, and watching his nervous hands 
that were busy with the papers again, she unconsciously 
read the clearly engrossed superscription on a heavy 
lawyer’s envelope: — 


272 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART 11 


The Will of His Excellency Don Diego Silani, 
Count of Montalto 

Maria bit her lip as she turned away, realising what 
that meant. It was no wonder that her husband was pre- 
occupied just then, for she could not help suspecting that 
he had been in the act of drafting a new will when she 
had interrupted him, and she guessed that its tenor would 
be very different from that of the old one which lay be- 
fore him, and which must have been made a good many 
years ago, for the thick envelope had the unmistakable, 
faded look of a document long put away with others. 
He had just said, too, that she would never need her own 
money again ; but he had also told her that the matter 
was very complicated. 

As she moved away he rose quickly to open the door. 
That was one of those formal little acts of courtesy which 
he had rarely omitted since they had been married. 

She went back to her own room much more disturbed 
than when she had left it ten minutes earlier. Her 
knowledge of her husband’s mind and character told her 
that he would find arguments for putting off anything 
like real action until it might be too late to act at all; 
and yet her own ultimate advantage was doubtless the 
very reason why he had resented being disturbed. 

It was not her fault if another image rose before her 
mental vision just then ; but she drove it away so fiercely 
that it disappeared at once. 

That afternoon, when they were driving together, they 
came to no conclusion. Montalto was afraid of being 


CHAP. XVIII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


273 


overheard by the men on the box, and he talked in French. 
But he was less at home in that language than most 
Romans are, and found it much more easy to say what he 
knew how to say, than to express what he really meant. 
Maria did not know Spanish, which he now spoke better 
than Italian, from having hved in Spain and spoken 
it with his mother during so many years. Maria chafed 
as she felt that precious time was passing, and that such 
a wretched obstacle as a servant not quite certainly 
within hearing was making it impossible to talk freely. 

In the evening he was tired, and at first almost re- 
fused to refer to the subject. He said at last, however, 
that Schmidt was evidently in collusion with the South 
Itahan gangs of malefactors, with the Camorra of Naples 
and the Mala Vita of Palermo. The letter showed this 
plainly enough, he said, and those people were capable 
of anything, especially including murder. To try and 
catch Signor Carlo Pozzi or Signor Paolo Pizzuti would be 
folly ; no such persons existed, and if any one represent- 
ing himself as either at a post office were actually arrested, 
it would be impossible to extract a word from him. 
Those men would go silently to prison for years, rather 
than betray an accomplice and be knived or shot in the 
back for it within twenty-four hours. There were many 
instances of this, Montalto said, and Schmidt had given 
another proof of his intelhgence in demanding, that the 
money should be paid through the Camorra or the Mala 
Vita. He added petulantly that he wished Schmidt 
were with him still, because only Schmidt could be clever 
enough to catch himself. 


274 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


Maria tried to laugh, and this put her husband in a 
better humour. He said the simplest thing was to have 
a circular note from the Chief of Police sent to the Itahan 
press, informing all the responsible editors of the daihes 
that an outrageous plot was on foot to attack the reputa- 
tion of a lady of Rome by offering for publication certain 
alleged reproductions of letters already in the possession 
of her husband, who would bring an action, in the most 
public way, against any newspaper that even alluded to 
them. Maria answered that such a plan would succeed 
admirably with the respectable papers ; but that, unfor- 
tunately, there were some which were just the contrary, 
and whose owmers desired nothing better in the way of an 
advertisement than to be sued for libel, for collusion in 
forgery accessory after the fact, or for any other scandal- 
ous offence, because nothing would delight a certain class 
of their readers and increase their circulation so much as 
to see the name of the Countess of Montalto or any other 
Roman lady dragged through the mud. 

This was unfortunately true, for Rome was much dis- 
turbed at that time by a revolutionary element of the 
most despicable sort, which was stirring up strife in every 
way, and was at the bottom of the frequent strikes, 
almost every one of which led to some open disturbance 
httle short of a riot. That was the pubhc that supported 
the disreputable papers, Maria said, and it would treble 
the circulation of any one of them that published a scan- 
dalous attack on decent people. 

Maria knew far more about the condition of Rome 
and Italy than Montalto. He had exiled himself from 


CHAP, xvin 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


275 


his country for years, and had taken little interest in 
what happened there, whereas his wife had always been 
on intimate terms with Giuliana Parenzo, whose hus- 
band was now Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs, after 
having been connected with the Government ever since 
he had left the University of Bologna. 

It did not occur to Montalto to smile at the thought of 
having spent some time every evening in giving Maria a 
summary of the news he gathered chiefly from the Vatican 
newspapers. On the contrary, he felt quite sure that he 
understood the situation much better than she did, 
and he suddenly forgot the matter in hand and tried to 
launch upon one of those arguments in favour of the 
restoration of the Temporal Power, in which he delighted 
to engage with Monsignor Saracinesca. 

But Maria refused to be led so far, and only said it 
was a matter she did not imder stand. She saw it was 
useless to bring him back to the point just then, so she 
listened quietly while he talked alone, till it was much 
later than usual. Then he< solemnly conducted her 
to her own door, kissed her hand with a formal bow, 
while pressing it affectionately, and bade her good- 
night. 

She felt almost desperate for a little while after she 
had dismissed her maid, for the first of the eight days was 
gone, and she saw no reason why Montalto should be any 
nearer to a conclusion a week hence than now. When 
he thought that a question concerned his conscience or 
the welfare of his soul, even in the most distant manner, 
she knew that he could make up his mind in twenty-four 


276 


A LADY OF ROME 


PAST II 


hours as to what was right, and would certainly act on 
his decision at once. But in other matters eight days 
would seem to him as good as a year, and having gen- 
erously accepted Maria’s assurance that the letters were in 
themselves perfectly innocent, he could hardly believe 
that there was any r^al danger. It seemed almost cer- 
tain that he would reach no conclusion, and that they 
would be published before he could be induced to take 
any steps. 

Again, as she lay awake in the quiet night, Maria saw 
Castiglione’s resolute face before her as clearly as if he 
had been standing in the room. She always slept in the 
dark, but she sat up in bed and covered her eyes with 
both her hands, and prayed aloud that the vision might 
not disturb her. She was so sure that he would have 
known what to do at once, and would have done it with 
ruthless energy. 

Her prayers, or her will, or both, drove away the 
thought of him, and by and by she fell asleep in spite of 
her trouble, and did not wake till daylight. 

She would not go to her husband’s study again in the 
morning, for he was without doubt still busy over the 
drafting of his will, and it would be foolish to run the risk 
of disturbing him. She felt very helpless. She had last 
seen the letters on that night in the chapel, when she had 
hastily glanced over them to be sure that nothing was 
missing ; for when she had gone back to her room she had 
resolutely locked them up. That had been the night fol- 
lowing the day of her meeting with Castiglione in the lift, 
when she had struggled so hard with herself, and had 


GHAP. xvni THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


277 


made her great resolution to put away his memory for 
the rest of her life. 

The phrases came back to her now, some vividly, some 
only very vaguely; but there was the photograph of a 
part of one to help her. She tried to think of herseK 
as another woman coming to her for help, in order to 
judge coldly of the effect such words must make on any 
one who should read them without knowing the truth 
she had called innocent ; and in an instant it was dread- 
fully clear to her that they could only be interpreted in 
one way. Castighone had never had the gift of writing ; 
he had not been able to speak eloquently and convin- 
cingly of a spiritual love in which he could not believe. 
He had only found words to tell her that he loved her, 
that she was his queen of love, his idol, the saint on the 
altar of his heart, that he would do his best to be what she 
wished him to be, and that he honoured and respected 
her above and beyond all things visible and invisible. 

Would any one believe that such language was inno- 
cent? Would any one but her husband have beheved 
her when she said it was? Giuhana Parenzo had told 
her plainly that such a relation as she had dreamt of was 
impossible ; so had Monsignor Saracinesca ; and the im- 
placable Capuchin had refused his absolution so long as 
she even entertained the thought of it. The world 
would most assuredly not beheve that she had been with- 
out fault during those weeks; it was both futile and fool- 
ish to hope that it would. 

The day passed as she had expected. She met Mont- 
alto at luncheon, and Leone was at the table as usual, 


278 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


SO that it was impossible to allude to the subject. Her 
husband looked at the handsome boy affectionately 
from time to time, and then at Maria, and talked of little 
matters; Leone chattered of horses, and Maria encour- 
aged him, because she herself could find so little to say. 

‘Why don’t you have a racing stable, papa ?’ he asked 
at last. ‘You know quite enough about it, I’m sure; 
and when I’m a little bigger I could be your jockey ! It 
would be such fun, and between us we should win every- 
thing!’ 

Maria laughed a little. Her husband smiled kindly 
and shook his head. 

‘My dear little man,’ he said, ‘when you are the mas- 
ter of Montalto and have a, boy of your own, you may 
keep a racing stable if you like and let your son ride races 
for you. But I am not going to encourage you to break 
your neck ! Do you remember that poor lad who was 
killed at the Capannelle?’ 

‘Yes,’ Leone answered, growing suddenly grave, for 
he had been taken to the races for the first time on that 
day, and had seen the fatal accident. ‘ But I shall never 
be the master, papa, you know.’ 

Maria’s face changed, and she looked down at her 
plate. 

‘ Why not ? ’ asked her husband, smiling again. 

'Because I couldn’t be, unless you were dead. And 
that’s ridiculous ! ’ 

‘We shall see, my boy, we shall see,’ answered Mont- 
alto. ‘At all events we need not talk about dying yet. 
You are quite right about that.’ 


CHAP, xvm THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


279 


The words made a deep impression on Maria, who knew 
that he was making a new will. He could only mean that 
Leone was to have Montalto, which it would have been 
in his power to leave to another branch of his family, 
or indeed to any one he pleased; and Montalto meant 
everything. She could not doubt that he knew per- 
fectly well what he was doing ; he had added one more 
generous deed to the many he had done in the course of 
that large forgiveness that had brought him back to her. 

He could do such things as this, and yet he could not 
lift his hand to hinder a disaster that might wreck the 
honom of his name, with her own, and Leone’s. He 
went out after luncheon, saying that he had an appoint- 
ment, and she did not see him till dinner-time, when 
Leone always had his supper with them, unless some one 
came to dine. And later he was in the loving mood she 
dreaded most. The second of the eight days had passed 
and nothing had been done yet. After two or three more 
hke these, the situation would become absolutely des- 
perate. 

Maria made up her mind that night that if her husband 
came to no decision in twenty-four hours, she would go 
to the National Bank and buy the cheques. After all it 
was better to disobey Montalto’s express injunction, if 
obedience was to mean ruin. 

She longed intensely for help, but there was none in 
sight. She could not tell Giuliana all that had passed 
between her husband and herself to bring about the 
present situation ; still less could she appeal to Monsignor 
Saracinesca, who knew very little of the truth. 


280 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART U 


On the next day Montalto talked again about a circu- 
lar notice to the press, saying there was plenty of time, 
because the blackmailer^s letter did not say that the 
letters would be pubhshed in eight days, but that if the 
money had not been received by that time a second de- 
mand would be sent to Maria, on the supposition that 
the first draft might have been lost, which would mean 
a lapse of several days more. 

^Let us go together to the Chief of Police,^ entreated 
Maria. 'We need only say that it concerns certain old 
letters, in your possession, which might compromise me. ^ 

'That is quite impossible, my dear, without very 
mature reflection,’ answered Montalto, with exasperating 
calm. 

' But surely we have been reflecting these three days ! 
If you do not go to the police, how can you ever get a 
circular sent to the press?’ 

' But, my dear child, there is really no such hurry ! ’ 

He did not often call her his 'dear child’; it was one 
of his small ways of showing that he was impatient, and 
she understood at once that it was of no use to insist. 

'Diego,’ she said, 'unless you can find some better 
way, I shall send the money to-morrow, although you 
forbade me to do so, and I promised to obey you.’ 

'My dear Maria,’ he cried, almost angrily, 'how you 
take up every word I say ! I certainly apologised to you 
for using such an expression as "forbid,” so, for heaven’s 
sake, let us say no more about it ! I only beg you not 
to submit to this outrageous extortion. I entreat you 
not to send the money. That is all I mean to say.’ 


CHAP, xvm 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


281 


'I’m very sorry/ Maria answered; 'but unless some 
better way can be foimd, I shall have to pay.’ 

'It is madness/ said Montalto; 'pure madness!’ 

And, to her great surprise, he got up abruptly and left 
the room without another word, evidently much dis- 
pleased. 

For the third time she saw Castiglione’s resolute face 
before her, as distinctly as if he had been in the room, 
and the vision came so unexpectedly that she felt her 
heart leap, and drew a sharp breath. It was so sudden 
that a few seconds passed before she made that honest 
effort of will that was necessary to drive away the thought 
of him. When it was gone she felt more desperate than 
before. She went and stood at a window that looked 
over the square ; it was past eleven o’clock in the morn- 
ing, the day was rainy, and the square was almost empty. 
Three cabs were on the stand, and the huge umbrellas 
concealed the dozing cabmen. The horses in their shiny 
waterproofs hung their heads far down, as if they were 
contemplating their more or less broken knees, a melan- 
choly sight indeed. 

Here and there a stray pedestrian came in sight for a 
few moments, hurrying along by the wall and presently 
disappearing into a side street; a poor woman with a 
torn green shawl over her head dripping with water, a 
student with an umbrella and some books under his arm, 
a policeman in an indiarubber hood and cloak, a priest in 
a long black overcoat and shoes with silver buckles. 
He had no umbrella, and he made straight for one of 
the three cabs, diving in under the hood and apron with 


282 


A LADY OF HOME 


PART H 


more agility than dignity. Maria watched the dismal 
scene with a sort of depressed interest. Nothing made 
any difference, till she could see clearly what was 
right, for she was sure that the question of right and 
wrong was involved. Would it be wrong to pay no 
attention to her husband^s entreaty that the money 
should not be sent ? Or would it be right ? Or would 
it be neither, and yet be a mistake? She groped for 
some answer and could find none. She wanted some 
strong and energetic friend to help her, some one with 
decision and character, even if not very wise, some man 
who would fight for her or tell her how to defend 
herself. 

She crossed the room and came back aimlessly, and 
looked out once more. Her husband would have told 
her that even if she could not be seen from below, a 
Roman lady must never look out of a window in town. 
She could hear him say it ! But when she looked this 
time, another of the cabs was gone. Her old travelling 
clock on the writing-table struck eleven and chimed the 
quarter ; she turned and looked at it, and her mind was 
made up. There was still one cab left on the stand, and 
there was still time. Three minutes later she was down- 
stairs and under the dripping hood, with the leathern 
apron hooked up as high as her chin. 

^What address. Excellency?’ inquired the porter, 
respectfully. 

'The Capuchins, in Piazza Barberini.’ 

The porter repeated the words to the cabman in his 
sternest tones, as if he were ordering that her Excellency 


CHAP, xvm 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


283 


should be taken directly to prison, and the cab rumbled 
out from under the deep archway. 

She was not going for the sake of confession, for she 
was not conscious of having anything on her conscience, 
but it would be just as well to go through what would 
be little more than a form, in order to ask what her duty 
was. That seemed to be the point. At a very critical 
juncture in her life she turned neither to Giu liana Parenzo, 
her intimate friend, nor to Don Ippolito Saracinesca ; 
he was Montalto's friend, and she could not put him in 
the position of advising her to do what was precisely con- 
trary to her husband’s wishes ; and, moreover, courage- 
ous as he was, she did not feel that he was a fighting 
man. She went to the grim, uncompromising old monk ; 
according to his lights he would tell her what he thought, 
without the slightest regard for her feelings. 

Maria would not have admitted that Montalto’s hesi- 
tation filled her with contempt. How could she despise 
the husband who overwhelmed her with undeserved 
kindness and almost fantastic generosity? 

I once knew a most refined and cultivated epicure 
who sometimes felt an irresistible craving for a piece of 
coarse dry bread and a raw onion, and would go out 
secretly and buy those things, and eat them greedily in 
the privacy of his own dressing-room, after locking the 
door lest his own servant should catch him. I have also 
heard of women who would rather be beaten black and 
blue by their husbands than be treated with indifference. 

At that juncture Maria’s conscience and heart craved 
stronger and rougher stuff than was to be found in 


284 


A LADY OF EOME 


PART n 


her husband’s nervous and hesitating character. She 
wanted some one to direct her authoritatively, even 
rudely, and she went to the Capuchin because she recog- 
nised in him the born fighting man as well as the un- 
compromising ascetic. If he thought she ought to de- 
fend herself energetically, he would tell her that she 
must fight, or be guilty of the mortal sin of sloth ; if he 
beheved that mortification of the flesh was necessary to 
the salvation of her soul she was sure that he would order 
her to walk barefoot from Rome to -Naples, and would 
be very much surprised if she objected to such a penance. 
He had not outlived the thirteenth century, in which 
his Order had been founded. What had been good for 
sinners then was excellent for them now. If civihsa- 
tion was to extend to morahty and change the soul’s 
requirements, then the Church must change too, and as 
this was manifestly impossible, the hypothesis was con- 
trary to sense. His reasoning was sound, though his 
application of the truth he demonstrated was sometimes 
severe to the point of being quite impracticable. He 
shook his head, for instance, when he was told that vari- 
ous bacilli flourished on the pavement of his church, and 
that it was not hygienic for penitents to kiss the stones 
twenty-five times between the door and the altar rail. 
He said there had been no bacilli when he was young, 
and that the floor was swept every day. 

Maria asked for Padre Bonaventura. The lay brother 
did not know whether he was in the monastery at that 
hour. Would he kindly go and ask? Certainly, but 
would the lady kindly give her name ? Maria hesitated. 


CHAP. XVIII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


285 


^Please say that a Roman lady is here who confessed 
to him ten days ago, and also last May. 

The lay brother hastened awa> slapping the damp 
marble pavement with his wet sandals, and the Countess 
did not wait long. The monk appeared almost imme- 
diately, and went before her to a confessional box, just 
bending his head a httle as he passed her, but not even 
glancing at her unveiled face. Her message had ex- 
plained enough, and he had no wish to discover her 
identity. He probably thought she had already 
failed in her good resolution and had come to tell 
him so. 

But he was mistaken; though he asked her several 
searching questions, she answered them all without 
hesitation, and then told him the story of the letters 
and spoke of her husband’s hesitations and of her own 
fears; and at last she put the case directly: Would it 
be wrong to act contrary to his expressed wish or not? 
That was what she had come to ask. 

The monk was silent for a few moments, and then 
asked her a question in his harsh, unforgiving tone. 

^What is the character of the man who wrote those 
letters? Is he what is called a man of honour?’ 

Maria, on the other side of the perforated brass plate, 
straightened herself unconsciously as if she had been 
offended in the street. 

'He is brave and honourable,’ she answered proudly, 
after an instant. 

'Very well. I suppose he is a gentleman at large, a 
noble without occupation in life, is he not ? ’ 


286 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


^On the contrary, he is an officer in active service/ 

^Very good. So much the better.’ 

She thought the ^id monk’s voice softened a httle. 
She was quite sure it was less harsh. He had pronoimced 
the words ^a noble without occupation’ with an accent 
of profound contempt, and Maria did not see how the 
fact of being an officer in the Italian Army could be a 
recommendation in the eyes of a bare-footed friar whose 
pohtical opinions might reasonably be thought to be 
those of Gregory Seventh or Pope Alexander Third. 
But Maria said nothing, and waited for another ques- 
tion. It came, in a kindly tone. 

Hf you thought I could help you in your trouble, 
should you have any objection to telling me the officer’s 
name ? ’ 

Maria was so much surprised that she did not answer 
at once. In all her experience of confessors — and her 
hfe had brought her to many — none had ever inquired 
the name of any person she spoke of. 

^Not yours,’ the monk added, before she spoke. H 
do not know who you are, and I never shall try to find 
out. But if you will tell me the name of the officer, 
I think I can help you, provided you will trust me. 
I cannot advise you to send money to the thief, any 
more than I can suggest any other plan of action for you. 
I can only offer my own help.’ 

' But what can you do ? ’ Maria asked in a puzzled 
tone. 

^Have you finished your confession?’ 

^ Yes.’ 


CHAP. XVIII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


287 


^ Say the Act of Contrition/ 

Maria obeyed, and immediately the monk pronounced 
the words of absolution. When all was finished, and 
after a short pause, he spoke again. 

^This matter on which you have consulted me has 
nothing to do with the confessional,’ he said. ^Perhaps 
you would hke to go and sit down quietly for a few 
minutes and think it over. I will wait in the chapel, by 
the door of the sacristy. If you decide to trust me, come 
back and tell me the officer’s name and give me some 
address where I may find him, for I must see him alone. 
If you decide not to do this, you need only leave the 
church without coming back to me. I shall understand.’ 

‘ Yes. Thank you. I will go and collect my thoughts.’ 

She rose, went to a little distance, and sat down on a 
straw chair. It was all very strange, but the stern old 
Capuchin inspired her with respect and confidence. She 
could trust him at least not to lead her into doing any- 
thing wrong, and if it were not wrong that he should go 
from her to the man she loved, she could allow herself 
to believe that a sort of link was made which was better 
than utter estrangement. Even that did not seem to be 
quite without danger, but the monk was there between 
them, austere and unforgiving. She left her chair very 
soon and went back to the chapel, where he was kneefing 
on the step of the altar. As she came near he rose slowly 
to his feet, and she looked at his face attentively for the 
first time. He had a rough-hewn head, with great gaunt 
features that made her think of an old eagle. She 
came to him, and looked up trustfully as she spoke. 


288 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


'His name is Baldassare del Castiglione, and he is a 
captain in the Piedmont Lancers. I do not know 
where he hves.’ 

'I can get his address from the barracks. Will you 
come here to-morrow evening, towards twenty-three 
o’clock or half-past?’ 

‘Yes, I will be here. Thank you.’ 

She had a very vague idea as to what time twenty- 
three o’clock might be, for she belonged to the younger 
generation, and she was going to ask him to tell her, 
but he left her without waiting for her to speak again, 
and disappeared into the sacristy. 

As she went out of the church she heard the midday 
gun, and all the bells began to ring. It was still raining, 
and she trod daintily and packed herself into the drip- 
ping cab and went home, wondering whether any woman 
she knew had lived a hfe so strange as hers, or had ever 
accepted help from such an unhkely quarter. 

After all, it was but to wait one day more, and that 
would be the fourth, and the draft could still reach 
Palermo in time. 


CHAPTER XIX 


On the following morning Castiglione’s orderly had a 
severe shock. The Captain had been in the saddle 
early, and hard at work, and as it had rained heavily 
on the previous day and night, he and his charger had 
come in looking as if they had taken a mud-bath together. 
If Castighone had known Greek, he might have thought 
of Hector dechning Hecuba’s invitation to go up and pray 
at the temple of Zeus, on the ground that he was not fit 
to be seen. The orderly was doing what he could for 
boots and breeches when the bell rang. He opened the 
door and beheld an old Capuchin monk whose gaimt head 
towered far above his own. But this was not what sur- 
prised him, for mendicant brothers and nuns of various 
charitable Orders came at intervals to ask for alms 
at every landing of the apartment house. When Cas- 
tighone was in, he gave them a few pennies; his chum 
rarely gave anything. To-day Castighone was at home 
and his friend was out; this meant pennies. 

H will ask the Captain,’ said the trooper civihy, leav- 
ing the door open and turning to go into the sitting-room. 

Then came the shock. 

^Excuse me, but I wish to see the Conte del Castig- 
hone on private business,’ said the monk. ^Be good 
enough to give him my card.’ 

u 289 


290 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


Now the trooper was a young man who came of decent 
people in Umbria, and had been brought up in the fear 
of God, and went to hear a mass now and then on a 
Sunday when he had time. But the idea that a bare- 
footed friar could ever, under any conceivable circum- 
stances, have private business with an officer of the 
Piedmont Lancers had never presented itself to him. 
He stood staring at the card hke an idiot. 

‘ That is my name, ’ the monk said impatiently. ‘ Padre 
Bonaventura of the Capuchins.’ 

‘I can read,’ answered the orderly, offended. 

^But apparently,’ retorted the monk, ‘you cannot 
walk. Now take my card to the Captain, and say that 
I must see him on private business of the utmost im- 
portance to him, and at once. Right about face, 
march ! ’ 

The order was delivered in such a commanding tone, 
and with such a mihtary air, that the trooper obeyed 
mechanically, swung round on his heels, and tramped 
into the sitting-room with the card and the message, 
shutting the door behind him. When he reappeared a 
moment later, he left it open, stood at attention while 
the monk went in, and then shut it after him. He re- 
turned to his master’s boots fully resolved to play at the 
public lottery with the numbers corresponding to ‘ Capu- 
chin,’ ‘officer,’ and ‘surprise’ in the Book of Dreams, 
which contains the correct numbers for everything imder 
the sun except winning. 

The sunshine was streaming into the sitting-room when 
Padre Bonaventura entered, and Castiglione stood near 


CHAP. XIX 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


291 


the door to receive him, in slippers and a brown dressing- 
gown of nearly the same colour as his visitor’s frock. 

^As your business is urgent, Father, you will excuse 
my appearance,’ he said pohtely, but with distinct cold- 
ness, for he was almost as much surprised as his orderly 
had been. ‘May I ask what brings you to see me?’ 

Padre Bonaventura looked round the room, and then 
at Castighone. 

‘Shall we be interrupted here?’ he inquired. ‘My 
errand is very private.’ 

Castiglione’s bright blue eyes scrutinised the monk’s 
great head and eagle features. Being tolerably satisfied 
that the man was a genuine Capuchin and not a dis- 
guised thief, he opened the door and called to his orderly. 

‘Let no one come in,’ he said, and he came back at 
once. 

The two sat down on straight chairs by a table and 
looked at each other. 

‘I come to you on behalf of a Roman lady,’ the monk 
began. 

‘A lady!’ 

Castiglione moved and his face hardened at once. He 
thought he had been mistaken after all, and that his 
visitor was some scoundrel in disguise, whom he should 
presently throw downstairs or hand over to the police. 

‘I do not know her name,’ continued Padre Bonaven- 
tura with perfect calm. ‘She only told me yours yester- 
day. She has been to confess to me three times since 
last May. She is in great danger and you must help her.’ 

A romantic foreigner might have scented some strange 


292 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


mystery of the imaginary Italian life described by Eng- 
lish poets. Castighone, who knew his own country well, 
only suspected that a fraud was being attempted, with 
a view to extracting money from him; or else that the 
monk was the ignoble emissary of some one of the fair 
and free who hve between two worlds and feed the altar 
of Ashtaroth with human sacrifice. 

^Unless you can be more explicit,’ he said coldly, 

shall not hsten to any mxore of this.^ 

An angry fight came into the old Capuchin’s deep-set 
eyes, for he understood what Castighone was thinking. 
But he checked the retort and told the facts quickly. 

^The lady has seven letters written to her by you during 
last April and May.’ 

The soldier’s manner changed instantly. 

'Have you come from her to bring them back to me. 
Father?’ he asked sadly. 

'No. They were stolen by a steward, photographed, 
and retiu-ned. The man has absconded, and he, or his 
accomplices, demand a hundred and fifty thousand 
francs ; if the money is not paid in four days, the letters 
will be published here and in Naples.’ 

'Not if I am alive,’ said Castighone, whose face was 
not good to see just then, though he sat quite quietly 
in his chair. 

Padre Bonaventura was so much pleased with this 
answer that he actually smiled. It was rather a 
grim performance of its kind, but it w^as unmistakably 
meant to express satisfaction. The Captain had 
turned out to be the sort of man he had hoped to find. 


GHAP. XIX 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


293 


^May I say a few words more?^ he asked. 

Certainly. I must have more details. Does her 
husband know of this?’ 

The Capuchin told him the story as he had heard it 
from Maria’s hps, omitting nothing. He had an ex- 
tremely good memory. Castighone noted the names to 
which the drafts were to be addressed. Padre Bona- 
ventura pointed out that it would be worse than useless 
to pay the money for reproductions which could be mul- 
tiphed and used to extort more. 

Hs that all, Father?’ asked Castiglione. 

‘1 have a word to say, Captain,’ returned the monk, 
'first as one man to another, and then as a priest. So 
far as the one is concerned we shall agree, for you are 
evidently a man of honour; as for the rest, I presume 
your views about priests are those of most young mili- 
tary men.’ 

'They are,’ Castiglione admitted. 

'That being the case, we shall probably not agree. 
But as you, when under orders, would do your duty in 
your profession, so I must do mine.’ 

'That is just. Pray speak freely.’ 

'As one man to another, I only have to say what I 
see you already understand. You wrote those letters 
to a married woman. She should have burnt them, it 
is true ; but she did not. If she is compromised by the 
consequences, the fault is ultimately yours. If there is 
a breath upon her honour, there will be a stain on 
yours.’ 

'You put things plainly, for a priest,’ said Castiglione. 


294 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


^In that, I do not speak as a monk, but as a man. 
Captain/ 

^And very much like a soldier. What you say is true, 
and I shall act with the conviction that my own honour 
is in danger.’ 

^It is not every man that would do that,’ said the 
monk thoughtfully. ^Most of you, in your class, would 
say that the fault was the lady’s in keeping dangerous 
letters, not yours in writing them. I come to the second 
point.’ 

^You have something to say from the point of view 
of rehgion, I understand,’ said Castiglione gravely. 
shall hsten with respect, though I may not agree with 
you.’ 

^ Thank you. In an affair of this kind an officer may 
always be placed in such a position as to beheve it his 
duty to fight a duel.’ 

^With an absconding steward and a blackmailer?’ 
Castiglione smiled. 

^No. With the lady’s husband or brother.’ 

^Nothing could be more utterly unlikely in this case.’ 

'Nevertheless, as a priest, and because I have been the 
means of inciting you to action, I ask you to give me yoin* 
word that you will not be led into a duel.’ 

'I cannot promise that,’ answered Castiglione. 'That 
is a question about which a priest and a soldier cannot 
possibly agree. Forgive me for saying that you know 
no more of my profession than I do of yours. Father.’ 

'Perhaps. But you may be wrong.’ 

The old man turned back the left sleeve of his loose 


CHAP. XIX 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


295 


and threadbare brown frock. Castiglione started slightly 
as he looked, for the monk's arm was gone. 

‘1 left it at Aspromonte, in the sleeve of a red shirt, ^ 
he said quietly, ^and I was in orders already. I made 
submission afterwards. Perhaps a priest and a soldier 
may yet agree.' 

Castiglione held out his hand across the table, and 
Padre Bonaventura took it frankly. 

beg your pardon,' said the Captain. can promise 
an old soldier what I would never promise a priest. I 
do not foresee any chance of a duel, but if the possibility 
of one arises, I will do my very best to avoid it; I will 
go as far as I can without being a disgrace to the regi- 
ment.' 

^ Thank you,' answered the monk. know that is 
the most I can expect. As for what you are to do, I can- 
not advise you, for you know this modern world better 
than I. The lady will come late this afternoon to hear 
the result of the step I have taken.' 

^Tell her from me ' 

^ Stop, Captain ! ' The monk interrupted him sternly. 

will take no word from you to her. Whatever you 
choose to say, you say to me, and to me only.' 

^ Yes — you are right. I repeat what I first said, then. 
The letters shall not be published while I am alive to hin- 
der it. If there is any risk, it will not be in the way of a 
duel, so the one promise does not interfere with the other. 
When the matter is settled, shall I write to you or go 
and see you?' 

^In no case write,' answered Padre Bonaventura. 


296 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


'My share in this matter ends here, and I need neither 
hear from you nor see you again. If you do not find a 
way to make the pubhcation of those letters impossible/ 
he concluded, speaking slowly as he rose to his feet, ' you 
are not the man I take you for.’ 

Castighone smiled at the wholesale directness of the 
final speech, but only nodded in reply, and accompanied 
his visitor to the outer door with evident respect. Hear- 
ing steps, the orderly dropped the boots and sprang out 
of his little den. 

'Good-bye, Father, and thank you,’ said Castighone, 
shaking his hand warmly. 

The trooper could not beheve his eyes and ears, and 
stood open-mouthed, grinning with astonishment. As 
the door closed, his master saw his face and felt a strong 
desire to box his ears. But the Captain’s character had 
changed a good deal of late. 

He laid a heavy hand on the young soldier’s shoulder. 

'When you meet him again, salute him,’ he said 
sternly. 'That old monk was with Garibaldi, and lost 
his left arm at Aspromonte.’ 

'Yes, sir!’ 

Thereupon the orderly went back to the boots with 
a very grave face. 

But Castighone returned to the sitting-room and did 
not call his man for half an hour, during which time he 
dressed himself without the latter’s help, as he often did. 
It was noon when he went out, and the day was fine. 
Whatever he had determined to do, he was in no great 
hiury, for he stroUed along at a leisurely pace, enjoying 


CHAP. XIX 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


297 


the sunshine and the bright air after the rain. But there 
was no hesitation as to the direction he meant to take, 
and he neither slackened his walk nor hastened it till he 
reached the door of the Marchesa di Parenzo's pretty 
house, when it was a quarter-past twelve. 

He asked if she were alone, and on being informed 
that she was, he told the man to inquire whether she 
could receive him for a few moments. She would guess 
well enough that only an important matter could bring 
him at such an hour. He found her in her sitting-room, 
for the elder boys had not come home from school and 
the smaller children were already at their dinner. As 
usual, she wore a wonderfully fitting frock, that looked 
as if it had just left the hands of a consummate artist, 
and an exquisite fittle pin, of a perfectly new design, 
fastened the tie which was in the fashion for women 
that winter. 

‘1 hope you will stay to luncheon,^ she said, as soon as 
they had shaken hands. ^Sigismondo is coming, and 
there will be no one else but the boys.’ 

^ You are very kind, but I can only stay a few minutes,’ 
Castiglione answered, wondering how many of the women 
he knew would take the trouble to look their best merely 
for their husbands and their children. H came to ask a 
question which may seem strange to you. Can you tell 
me anything about that steward of Montalto’s who has 
absconded?’ 

Giuliana’s quiet eyes examined his face attentively. 
The question was certainly not one to which she could 
object; but though she had always felt inclined to like 


298 


A LADY OF EOME 


PART n 


him, she had always disapproved of him, and she had 
distrusted his intentions towards Maria since he had 
returned to Rome. To the womanly woman he ap- 
pealed as a particularly manly man; to the virtuous 
matron, far above the faintest breath of gossip, he repre- 
sented the wicked and heartless tempter, going about to 
destroy. 

^Yes,’ she answered, heard something about Or- 
lando Schmidt yesterday. Teresa Crescenzi has a story, 
as usual. She says that he played in some place where 
there is a roulette and lost a great deal of money.’ 

^ Oh ! That is interesting, if it is true. I wonder how 
she found it out.’ 

M have forgotten. I daresay she did not tell us. 
Sigismondo will remember the whole story, if you will 
only wait till he comes in.’ 

^I’m sorry, but I cannot stay. Perhaps I had better 
go and ask Donna Teresa herself. Are you sure she did 
not tell you where the gambling den was ? ’ 

think she mentioned Via Belsiana,’ answered the 
Marchesa, making an effort of memory. ^For my part, 
I did not know that such places existed in Rome.’ 

‘At all events you have put me on the right track. 
Thank you very much, and good-bye.’ 

His visit had not lasted five minutes. He hailed a cab 
and drove to Teresa Crescenzi’s door, and asked to see her. 

She also was very smartly dressed, but with less taste 
than the Marchesa. She was alone and was smoking a 
cigarette when Castiglione entered the httle drawing- 
room of her apartment. 


CHAP. XIX 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


299 


‘Do stay to luncheon/ she cried, shaking hands effu- 
sively. ‘ De Maurienne is coming, and there will be no 
one else ! You know him, of course.’ 

‘Yes, I know de Maurienne,’ answered Castighone, 
judging that the invitation was only meant to forestall 
any surprise on his part if the Frenchman appeared; 
‘but I cannot stay to-day, thank you. I have come 
to you for some information, because you always know 
the truth about everything that happens, and when you 
are in a good humour you tell it.’ 

‘I am in a good humour,’ she laughed, and blew 
smoke towards him. 

‘Where is that gambling den at which Montalto’s 
steward lost money before he decamped the other day?’ 

Again Teresa laughed and blew another little cloud at 
him. 

‘ Why do you ask me that ? ’ 

‘ Perhaps I might be thinking of risking a little money 
at roulette myself,’ suggested Castiglione. 

‘No,’ answered Teresa thoughtfully. ‘You are not 
that sort of man. Besides,’ she added with another 
laugh, ‘if you were, I would not be accessory to leading 
innocence astray. You must give some better reason. 
Are you playing detective for amusement? Are you 
trying to catch Orlando Schmidt?’ 

‘ Oh, no ! ’ Castighone spoke with perfect sincerity, 
and laughed in his turn. 

‘What will you do for me if I tell you?’ inquired 
Teresa playfully. 

‘Anything in reason, and honourable.’ 


300 


A LADY OF EOME 


PART. II 


‘ Oh ! You think I may be unreasonable and dishon- 
ourable ! ’ 

‘ A woman’s idea of honour is not always the same as a 
man’s, you know ! ’ 

‘I should think not!’ cried Teresa fervently. 

‘You see !’ 

‘You are a good swordsman, are you not, Balduccio?’ 

‘Fair. Why do you ask?’ 

‘Perhaps, if you would agree to fight a little duel 
for me — only if it were necessary — I might tell you 
what you are so anxious to know 1 ’ 

‘At my age, and in my regiment, we do not fight duels 
except for very grave reasons,’ answered Castiglione. 

‘Only a little innocent encounter,’ laughed Teresa. 
‘Just to scratch a man’s hand or arm ! What is that for 
a brave man and a good swordsman like you ? Besides, 
I have made up my mind. I was only joking at first, 
but since you do not hke the idea, I refuse to tell 
you what you wish to know. I have stated my 
condition, and you won’t accept it. I beheve you’re 
afraid 1 ’ 

‘Really!’ exclaimed Castiglione, beginning to be seri- 
ously annoyed. 

‘Oh, no ! It is of no use to argue ! That or nothing ! 
Either you are afraid, or you are not! I call you a 
coward ! ’ 

She turned away to throw the end of her cigarette into 
the fireplace. Castiglione moved and saw Monsieur de 
Maurienne, who had entered unannounced in time to hear 
the last words. Teresa had seen him, too. 


CHAP. XIX 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


301 


‘I fear I am intruding, Madame,’ he said stiffly, and 
he bowed a little to them both. 

He was a middle-sized and slightly built man of 
thirty-five, with somewhat intellectual features; he had 
soft brown hair and moustaches and he wore glasses. 
What he said was warranted by the tone of mingled irri- 
tation and contempt, in which Teresa had spoken, even 
more than by the words, since some women think them- 
selves privileged to insult men. But Teresa held out her 
hand to him. 

‘Intruding? My dear friend, what an idea! You 
have come just at the right moment! Balduccio said 
something to me which I shall certainly not repeat, and 
I told him he was a coward. That is all. It is of no 
consequence ! ’ 

De Maurienne looked at Castiglione for some explana- 
tion, and evidently expecting one, but the officer was 
going away without giving one, which was probably his 
best course. 

‘That is what it means to be an unprotected woman !’ 
cried Teresa, in a tone that announced approaching tears. 

‘What do you mean, Donna Teresa?’ asked Castigli- 
one sternly, turning back as he spoke. 

‘What right have you to come and say such insulting 
things to me ? In my own house, with no one to defend 
me !’ She was sobbing now, though there was a marked 
deficiency of tears. ‘ Go ! ’ she almost screamed. ‘ Go, I 
say ! Never speak to me again !’ 

‘I can only beheve you are quite mad,’ said Castiglione 
coldly. 


302 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


Thereupon he bowed and went out. He had left 
the apartment and was slowly descending the marble 
stairs when he heard quick footsteps behind him. He 
stopped, looked up, and saw de Maurienne coming down ; 
he knew what that meant, and waited. 

‘This cannot end here, sir,’ said the Frenchman. 

‘It must,’ returned Castiglione with great emphasis. 
‘I see that you wish to call me to account, but I assure 
you that nothing will induce me to fight about such a 
matter.’ 

‘Nothing, sir?’ 

‘Nothing, sir.’ 

‘Then I have the honour to suggest that the lady 
had some ground for the assertion she made, sir.’ 
The Frenchman spoke quietly and coolly. 

Castiglione ’s blue eyes blazed and his throat grew 
very red above the line of his mihtary collar. By a 
tremendous effort of will he controlled his hands. 

‘You are mistaken, sir,’ he said in a rather thick tone. 

‘In any case I am at your disposal,’ returned de Mau- 
rienne with contempt. ‘I shall be at home after five 
o’clock and shall not go out again. Good morning.’ 

‘Good morning.’ 

Castiglione breathed more freely in the street. The 
whole affair was utterly incomprehensible to him, for 
he was not clever enough to guess that Teresa Crescenzi 
had long nourished the hope of making Monsieur de 
Maurienne fight a duel for her as the surest means of 
forcing him to marry her afterwards, and that Castigli- 
one’ s unexpected appearance and the turn the interview 


CHAP. XIX 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


303 


had taken had afforded her the very opportunity she 
desired. After he had left the room it had been the affair 
of an instant to tell de Maurienne that the officer had 
brutally insulted her by a coarse allusion to her intimacy 
with de Maurienne himself. 

As Castiglione walked down the street, his eyes still 
on fire and his neck still very red, he asked himself how 
far he was bound to keep his word to Padre Bonaventura. 
After all, no one would ever connect a quarrel between 
him and de Maurienne in Teresa Crescenzi’s drawing- 
room with Maria Montalto. Yet, in plain fact, the 
quarrel was the result of the very first step he had taken 
on Maria’s behalf. He must either fight or leave the 
regiment, unless de Maurienne would retract his words. 

The work of the last half-hour had not been very 
successful, but he had got a clue from Giuliana Parenzo 
which was better than nothing at all, for he had already 
made up his mind as to the course Schmidt must have 
taken when he found himself in difficulties. 

He soon recovered his self-possession, and presently 
he strolled into the officers’ club. It was almost deserted 
at that hour, for there was then no regular kitchen con- 
nected with it. He went straight to the writing-room, 
meaning to write a note to his colonel, for he knew that 
in such a case it would be best to lay the matter before 
him and a council of officers at once, and, in spite of his 
great anxiety for Maria, it was absolutely necessary to 
give precedence to the affair of honour. The reputation 
of the regiment was at stake. 

A young subaltern of another regiment was sitting at 


304 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


one of the tables with a sheet of paper before him, on 
which he had written a few words, but he had apparently 
not been able to get any further, and was glowering at 
the opposite wall, the picture of despair. He rose 
hastily on seeing a superior officer enter, and Castigli- 
one nodded to him famiharly and sat down not far 
away. But he, too, had some difficulty in composing 
his note, and as he looked round in search of a word, 
he met the young heutenant’s eyes gazing at him with 
an imploring expression. The boy was the son of a 
former colonel of the Piedmont Lancers who had been 
promoted, but had lost most of his fortune nearly at the 
same time. The youth’s allowance was small, therefore, 
and it was known that he played too high. Castigh- 
one had a sudden inspiration. 

^What is the matter?’ he asked kindly. 'You seem 
to be in trouble. Can I help you ? ’ 

The young fellow flushed and sat up straight. 

'Oh, no. Captain! Thank you very much indeed, 
but I should not dare ’ 

'Have you lost money again?’ asked Castighone, in 
the same friendly tone. 

'Only five hundred. But you know how it is — we 
young ones in the regiment never have any cash, you 
see ’ 

'I will help you this time,’ said the elder man. 'But 
only on one condition.’ 

The heutenant was overwhelmed with gratitude. 

'Oh, how kind you are!’ he cried. 'Anything — I 
can repay the money next week ’ 


CHAP. XIX 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


305 


^Nonsense. You will return it when you have it. 
The condition is that you take my advice.' 

^And give up playing altogether! Yes, I know I 
should, but I cannot promise that.^ His face fell again. 

^No, don't promise me anything. Promise yourself, 
as a man, that you will never play for more than you have 
in your pocket. Here are the five hundred francs.' 

He put the notes into an envelope, rose, and handed 
them to the dehghted boy. Not knowing what might 
happen in the course of the day, he had taken all of his 
not very large store of cash with him. 

H shall ask you a little service in my turn,' he said, 
interrupting his young friend's voluble thanks. H do 
not go to gambling-houses myself, but for a strong reason 
I want the exact address of one which is said to exist in 
Via Belsiana. Do you happen to remember it?' 

^The one that has a little door opening on the street, 
with a foreign doctor's door-plate over the bell ? Is that 
the one?' 

Hs there any other in the same street?' 

^None that I know of. Of course, one goes there in 
civihan's clothes, and it is open after three in the after- 
noon, though there are never many people there till 
later. The password is made up of three numbers, 
twenty-six, eight, seventeen. Say that to the man at 
the door and he will let you in.' 

Castighone smiled. 

^ You seem to know all about it,' he said. ^That must 
be the one. If I were you I would not go to such places. 
Do you remember the number?' 


306 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


The youPxg lieutenant remembered it only too well, 
and gave it glibly. 

^You will never tell anybody that IVe been there, 
will you. Captain?^ he added. 

Tertainly not! It is no business of mine, but I ad- 
vise you to give it up.’ 

Castighone destroyed the note he had begun to write 
and went away, delighted with himself, and almost for- 
getting de Maurienne and Teresa Crescenzi. He looked 
at his watch. It was now one o’clock. The gambling 
den did not open till three, but he would have to go home 
to change his clothes. What he hoped for was that he 
might find the proprietor in the house before its chents 
were admitted. The interview might be a long one, 
but it was important that the right person should be 
altogether at Castiglione’s disposal while it lasted, and 
that the place should be quiet. Between three and five 
there would be plenty of time to find his colonel and to 
procure two brother officers to see him through the affair. 

He had never fought a duel, but was not much dis- 
turbed by the prospect of one, though an ordinary en- 
counter with sabres is a much more serious matter in Italy 
than in France or Germany. He had never had a quar- 
rel, because he was not the sort of man whom most peo- 
ple cared to meddle with, and also because the fife he had 
led for so many years had never brought him into trouble. 
A man who does not excite the jealousy of other men, 
who pays his debts, helps his friends when he can and 
never asks for help, may easily spend his life in the Itahan 
Army without ever being called out. 


CHAPTER XX 


An hour later Castiglione was admitted to the little house 
in Via Belsiana by a small man with eyes hke a ferret 
and reddish hair, who shut the street door at once but did 
not seem inclined to let the visitor pass beyond the nar- 
row hall without some further formahty. 

‘The club is not open yet,’ he said, civilly enough. 
‘You probably do not know the hours, as this is the first 
time you have been here, though you have the pass 
words.’ 

Castighone understood that it was the doorkeeper’s 
business to know the faces of those who frequented the 
place. He gave the man twenty francs by way of mak- 
ing acquaintance. 

‘Thank you,’ said the fellow, who had not failed to 
notice that the pocket-book from which the notes were 
produced was well filled. ‘I presume you wish to join 
the club, sir?’ 

He knew his business and was a judge of men at first 
sight ; a glance had assured him that the newcomer was 
an officer in civihan’s clothes, and was therefore per- 
fectly ehgible to the ‘club.’ 

Castiglione only hesitated for a moment. 

‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘I should hke to see the pro- 
prietor.’ 


307 


308 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


‘The treasurer, sir,' said the man, correcting him po- 
litely, but with some emphasis, ‘ is upstairs. If you will 
kindly step into the reading-room I will ask whether he 
can see you. I believe he has just finished his break- 
fast.' 

Castighone followed him through a long passage that 
turned to the left, and the man unlocked the door of a 
room that smelt of stale cigarette smoke. It was dark, 
but in a moment the doorkeeper turned up a number of 
electric fights. The walls were full of mirrors, and the 
furniture was of the description which must be supposed 
to suit the taste of the wicked, as it is only found in their 
favourite resorts. There was a vast amount of gilding, 
red plush and sky-blue satin, and the table was covered 
with dark green cotton velvet, fastened to the edges with 
gilt nails, below which hung a green and pink fringe. 

As the place was a reading-room it was natural that 
there should be something in it to read. The literature 
was on the table, and consisted of a new railway guide, 
a small framed and glazed price-list of ‘refreshments,' 
in which ‘Cognac' was offered for the modest sum of 
twenty-five francs the bottle, and an old munber of a 
disreputable illustrated paper. 

Castighone was not familiar with low places of any 
sort, and he looked about him with surprised disgust. 
He was not left to himself very long; the door opened 
and a broad-shouldered man with a white face entered 
and shut it behind him. He wore a dark morning coat, 
very well cut, and the fashionable collar and tie, but he 
smelt of patchouli and his fight hair curled on his fore- 


CHAP. XX 


THE COUNTESS OF MONT ALTO 


309 


head. Castiglione felt an instant desire to throw him 
out, and would certainly have done so at sight if the 
man had appeared in his own rooms. 

^ Good morning. You wish to become a member of the 
club ? Yes ? A little formahty is necessary. The com- 
mittee, which I usually represent, decides upon the 
eligibility of candidates. There is no election, no sub- 
scription, and no entrance fee, so that it is a mere 
form.^ 

Castighone watched the man attentively during this 
speech, which was delivered in a ghb and oily manner, 
and he wondered to what nation the keeper of the gam- 
bhng-hell belonged, for he had never seen a specimen 
of the breed before, though it flourishes from Port Said 
and Constantinople to San Francisco by way of Paris, 
London, and New York. Like the cholera, it appears to 
have its origin in the East. The specimens speak every 
language under the sun with equal fluency and correct- 
ness, but always with a slightly foreign accent, and they 
are neither Christians, Jews, nor Turks, but infidels of 
some other kind. He who has not had business with a 
Levantine blackleg or a Hindu money-lender does not 
guess what guile dwells in the human heart. 

Castiglione looked at the ‘ treasurer ’ and sat down on 
a gilt chair. The man followed his example, and they 
faced each other with the table between them. 

‘Yes,’ said the Captain, as if agreeing to the conditions 
of membership, which indeed seemed extremely easy to 
fulfil, ‘I quite understand. But before joining your 
club I should like to ask for a little information. I am 


310 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


told that the members sometimes play games of chance. 
Am I right?’ 

‘Occasionally/ replied the treasurer, ‘they do.’ 

‘Just so. I am an officer, as you may have guessed. 
Now, in the other clubs to which I belong, you must be 
aware that we generally play with counters, and that 
we settle once a week. Is that the practice in your club, 
too?’ 

The treasurer smiled. Castiglione thought his face 
was hke a mask of Mephistopheles modelled in whitish 
ice-cream. 

‘No. We play only for cash here.’ 

‘A very good way, too,’ said Castiglione in a tone of 
approval. ‘But I will suppose a case. If, for instance, 
a member of the club loses all the cash he has brought 
with him, and if it is rather late in the evening, and he 
wishes to go on playing in the hope of winning back 
something, is there no way by which he can borrow a 
little money without going home to get it ? ’ 

‘Oh, yes,’ answered the treasurer, faffing into the snare. 
‘When the committee is quite sure that a member is 
able to pay we are always glad to accommodate him with 
whatever he needs.’ 

‘I see ! That is just as convenient as our system of 
counters. The member merely signs a receipt for the 
money, I suppose, and settles at the end of the week.’ 

‘Not exactly. The committee prefers a stamped 
draft at eight days, and charges a small interest. You 
see an accident might happen to the member ’ 

‘Quite so,’ interrupted Castiglione, ‘and the draft 


CHAP. XX 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


311 


protects the club, of course. There is only one more case 
about which I should like to ask. Suppose, for instance, 
that the member in question did not hve in Rome, and 
that you did not know much about him. He might be 
a rich foreigner, who had joined for a few days, and 
though he might have come to the end of his cash, he 
might have something very valuable about him, such as 
a handsome diamond or ruby. Does the committee 
make an exception for him and accept anything of that 
sort as security ? ’ 

‘Occasionally,’ rephed the treasurer, ‘it does.’ 

‘Yes,’ said Castiglione in a thoughtful tone, leaning 
back in his chair with his hands thrust into the deep 
pockets of his overcoat. ‘The committee lends money 
on valuables. That is very convenient.’ 

He glanced at the treasurer, who was smoking a huge 
Egyptian cigarette, which he held with his left hand, 
while the fingers of his right played a noiseless- httle 
tattoo on the green cotton velvet of the table; they 
were white and unhealthy-looking, and loaded with 
rings. 

‘The object of the committee,’ said the man, ‘is to 
meet the wishes of the members as far as possible, and 
to study their convenience.’ 

‘As in the case of Orlando Schmidt,’ observed Cas- 
tiglione, keeping his eye on the treasurer’s right hand. 

The fingers at once stopped playing the noiseless tat- 
too and lay quite still, though the treasurer gave no other 
sign of intelligence; but that alone might mean a good 
deal. 


312 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


‘Who is Orlando Schmidt?’ he asked, apparently un- 
moved. 

‘Surely you remember him,’ answered Castiglione. 
‘You cannot have already forgotten Orlando Schmidt, 
and Carlo Pozzi of Palermo, and Paolo Pizzuti of Mes- 
sina ! ’ 

The treasurer’s face did not change, but his right hand 
moved and disappeared below the edge of the green 
velvet to get at his pistol. Castighone was ready, and 
was too quick for him. 

‘Keep your hands on the table and don’t call, or I’ll 
fire,’ he said sternly. 

The treasurer looked down the barrel of a full-sized 
army revolver, and beyond it he saw Castighone’s eyes 
and resolute jaw. There is one point in which the breed 
to which he belonged does not resemble that of the 
European adventurer; it is a breed of cowards always 
ready with firearms but never able to face them. More- 
over, Castiglione had the advantage. 

‘ Don’t shoot ! ’ cried the man in manifest terror. 

‘Sign this or I shall,’ answered Castighone, not lower- 
ing his revolver. With the other hand he pushed across 
the table a sheet of paper on which he had previously 
written something; he then took a fountain pen from 
an inner pocket and laid it before the treasurer. ‘Sign,’ 
he said. 

The treasurer offered no resistance, and his fingers 
shook visibly as he took up the pen and bent over the 
paper. 

‘Under protest,’ he said feebly. 


CHAP. XX 


THE COUNTESS OP MONTALTO 


313 


‘If you write anything but your own name I will kill 
you. I’m watching the point of the pen. Never mind 
reading what is there. That is my affair. Your busi- 
ness is not to be shot. Don’t sign an assumed name 
either, or I’ll pull the trigger.’ 

In sheer terror of his hfe the man wrote his own name, 
or at all events the one he went by in his business* 
‘Rodolfo Blosse.’ 

‘You have lost the money you lent to Orlando 
Schmidt,’ said Castighone, withdrawing the paper, 
and quietly waving it to and fro to dry the signature, 
‘ but you have the advantage of being a hve man.’ 

The revolver did not change its position. 

‘You seem to think there are no laws in your country,’ 
said the treasurer, who was afraid to move. 

‘On the contrary we have excellent ones, many of 
which are made for people hke you. Now I am going. 
I shall walk slowly backwards to the door, and if you 
move before you hear it shut after me you will never 
move again. Stay where you are, facing the table, 
and keep both hands on it.’ 

All doors in the resorts of the wicked have good locks, 
and Castighone turned the key after him and went back 
to the street entrance, where the ferret-eyed porter was 
waiting. 

‘Always after three o’clock, is it not?’ Castighone 
asked carelessly. 

The man nodded as he let him out. 

‘Yes, sir,’ he answered respectfuUy, thinking of the 
twenty francs he had just received from the new member. 


314 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


Castiglione walked briskly to the Piazza di Spagna, 
and then slackened his pace and drew a long breath be- 
fore he ht a cigar, and repeated to himself the words that 
were written on the paper in his pocket. He walked 
slowly home, and when he was in his own room he spread 
the sheet out and wrote below Rodolfo Blosse’s signature : 
^ Witness, Baldassare del Castiglione, Piedmont 
Lancers.^ Then he folded the sheet again, placed it in 
an envelope, which he sealed and addressed to the 
^Reverend Father Bonaventura of the Capuchins.^ 

He got into his uniform again, and having placed the 
envelope in the inner pocket of his tunic, he went -to see 
his colonel, to whom he had telephoned before going to 
Via Belsiana, asking to be received on urgent business at 
three in the afternoon. The great clock in the hall rang 
the Westminster chimes as he entered ; it was a remem- 
brance of the time when Casalmaggiore had been mihtary 
attache at the Italian Embassy in London. 

He gave Castiglione an enormous Havana as they sat 
down by the fire, and he ht one himself and offered to 
have Turkish coffee made. Castiglione had forgotten to 
eat anything since he had come in from riding in the 
morning, and he accepted gladly. 

Hs it about that mare?’ asked the Duca when he had 
rung and given the order. 

^No, not this time.’ Castiglione laughed. H have 
come for advice in an affair of honour.’ 

^Oh!’ The Colonel seemed annoyed. ^What a nui- 
sance!’ he observed with some emphasis. ^Wait 
till the man has brought the coffee. Meanwhile, about 


CHAP. XX 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


315 


that other matter — you have heard of my last 
offer ? ’ 

The Count of Montalto’s Andalusian mare happened to 
be the only thing, animate or inanimate, which the Duca 
di Casalmaggiore wanted and could not get; for he did 
not even hanker after promotion. There was not an 
officer in his regiment, old or young, whom he had not 
employed in some piece of diplomacy in the hope of get- 
ting possession of the coveted animal, and he began talk- 
ing about her at once, showing httle inchnation to hsten 
to Castighone's story, even when the servant had come 
and gone and they were drinking their coffee. He quite 
ignored the fact that Castiglione and Montalto were not 
on speaking terms, or he pretended to do so, for which the 
younger man was, on the whole, grateful to him. 

H am very sorry to change the subject,’ said the Cap- 
tain, at last, ^but this affair of mine is rather urgent.’ 

H had quite forgotten it! Pray excuse me and tell 
me what the matter is.’ 

The Colonel settled himself with a bored expression 
and hstened. He greatly disliked duelhng in his regi- 
ment, and invariably hindered an encounter if he could. 
In his young days a great misfortune had happened to 
him; in a senseless quarrel he had severely wounded a 
brother officer, who had become consumptive in con- 
sequence and had died two years later. 

He listened patiently to Castighone’s story, and then 
delivered himself of a general prediction. 

'That infernal cousin of mine will be the death of one 
of us yet He sent an inch of heavy ash from his cigar 


316 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART U 


into the fire with a vicious flick. ^Why the devil did 
you go to see her?’ he asked, very unreasonably. 

Castighone smiled but said nothing. He knew well 
enough that Teresa Crescenzi had tried to marry Casal- 
maggiore, and that the latter had been forced to make 
a regular defence. 

^There’s only one way to deal with such women, ^ 
he observed. ^ Marry them and separate within six 
months. Then you need never see them again ! What 
are you going to do ? ’ 

^That is precisely what I have come to ask you, as my 
chief. The honour of the regiment is the only question 
that matters to me. I shall do whatever you advise. 
De Maurienne expects to hear from me after five o’clock. 
As for the cause of the quarrel, Donna Teresa must be 
quite mad.’ 

^Mad?’ Casalmaggiore laughed. ^You don’t know 
her! Don’t you see that it is all a trick to make de 
Maurienne compromise her by fighting a duel for her, 
and that he will be forced to marry her afterwards, 
for decency’s sake?’ 

Castiglione looked at his colonel with sincere admira- 
tion, for such tortuous reasoning could never have taken 
shape in his own rather simple brain, though he now saw 
that no other explanation of Teresa’s conduct was pos- 
sible. The Duca smiled and pushed his delicate grey 
moustaches from his lips with the dry tip of his cigar, 
which he never by any chance placed between them. 
He seemed "able to draw in the smoke by some mys- 
terious means without even touching the tobacco, for 


CHAP. XX 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


317 


in smoking, as in everything else, he was a thorough 
epicure. 

hope,’ he said, his words following the fresh cloud he 
blew, Hhat de Maurienne will at least have the sense to 
act as I suggested just now. In France he can do better. 
He can be divorced without difficulty. Fancy the satis- 
faction of divorcing Teresa! Can you see her expres- 
sion? And she would be ^^a defenceless woman” again 
in no time. Of all the offensive forms of defenceless- 
ness !’ 

He laughed softly to himself. 

^Meanwhile,’ said Castiglione, trying to bring him back 
to the subject in hand, H am afraid something very dis- 
agreeable may happen.’ 

^What is that?’ asked the Colonel, following his own 
amusing thoughts and still smihng. 

^ You see, I have never fought a duel, and as I am not 
inclined to let de Maurienne run me through, I might kill 
him. There would be very serious trouble if an Itahan 
officer killed a French diplomatist, I suppose, not to men- 
tion the fact that I should have to spend a couple of 
years in a fortress.’ 

^ You are afraid you might upset the European concert, 
are you?’ The Colonel seemed much amused at the 
idea. ^But it is aU nonsense, Castiglione. There is not 
going to be any fight.’ 

‘But the man called me a coward to my face, Colonel ! 
What am I to do?’ 

‘ Go home and go to bed. It’s the only safe place when 
Teresa is on the war-path. If you want an excuse, I’ll 


318 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


put you under arrest in your rooms, but that seems use- 
less. Go home and go to bed, I tell you ! ^ 

‘ It’s rather early,’ objected Castiglione, smiling. ' And 
meanwhile Monsieur de Maurienne will be sitting up 
waiting for my friends.’ 

‘Dear Captain,’ said Casalmaggiore, ‘I have not the 
least idea what Monsieur de Maurienne will do. If I 
say that I will be responsible for your honour as for 
my own, and for that of the Piedmont Lancers, and if 
I tell you that there will be no duel. Monsieur de Mau- 
rienne may sit up all night, for weeks and weeks, so far 
as you are concerned.’ 

‘That is a very different matter,’ answered Castigli- 
one gravely. ‘I have nothing more to say. If my 
honour can be safer anywhere than in my own keeping, 
it will be so in your hands. Do you really wish me to 
stay at home this evening?’ 

‘Yes, unless you want a couple of days’ leave, though 
we have a general order from headquarters not to allow 
officers or men leave to go further than three hours by 
railway. Trouble is expected owing to these strikes, 
and we shall probably be doing patrol duty next week ! 
You may have two days if you like.’ 

‘Thank you, no. I’ll go home.’ 

Castiglione made a movement to get up. 

‘No, no!’ objected Casalmaggiore. ‘I have not told 
you everything about that mare yet. Stay a little longer.’ 

‘Certainly; with pleasure. But first, if it’s not in- 
discreet, may I ask how in the world you are going to 
settle my affair?’ 


CHAP. XX 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


319 


‘You may ask, Castiglione,’ replied the Colonel with 
great gravity, ‘ but it is beyond my power to answer you ; 
for I give you my word of honour that I have not the 
slightest idea. Montalto knows perfectly well,^ he con- 
tinued without a break and in precisely the same tone 
of voice, ‘ that I will pay twenty thousand francs for the 
mare whenever he likes, and that’s a large price in Italy.’ 

After that Castiglione made no further attempt to 
talk about de Maurienne, and his colonel kept him till 
after four o’clock. 


CHAPTER XXI 


Maria was silent and preoccupied throughout the day, 
and did not attempt to rouse Montalto from his apathy. 
He made no reference to the letters, though he gave some 
thought to the subject in the privacy of his study, and 
practically decided to consult the pohce on the morrow, 
since no other course suggested itself to his not very 
active imagination. 

One of Giuhana Parenzo^s horses was lame, and an- 
other had a bad cold, and she telephoned to ask if Maria 
would take her for a drive and make a few visits with 
her. Having no ready excuse, Maria agreed to the pro- 
posal on condition that Giuliana should not object to 
waiting for her a few minutes outside the Church of 
the Capuchins. She had ascertained from her maid, 
who was a Roman, that twenty- three-and-a-half o’clock 
meant sunset at all times of the year, which seemed to 
her a clumsy way of reckoning, the more so as she had to 
make further inquiries in order to ascertain the hour at 
which the sun actually went down. It turned out to 
be about a quarter before five, but as she was not quite 
sure, she thought it best to go at half-past four. If 
Padre Bonaventma had not come in she could wait for 
him. Giuhana probably had some visit to make at 
one of the modern hotels in the vicinity, for she and her 
husband necessarily knew many foreigners. 

320 


CHAP. XXI 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


321 


Accordingly, at half-past four, when the brown front 
of the old church was just beginning to glow in the even- 
ing light, the Countess’s carriage stopped before the 
steps. Giuliana had said that she preferred to wait, 
as she had nothing to do in the neighbourhood, but, to 
Maria’s surprise, she now also got out. 

‘It is a long time since I was here,’ she explained, ‘so 
I have changed my mind. I shall not be in your way if 
I stay near the door.’ 

‘In the way ? How absurd !’ Maria laughed a little 
as she went up the steps. 

They parted just inside the door; Giuliana knelt down 
by a straw chair on the right, while Maria went up the 
church diagonally towards the left, in the direction of the 
confessional which Padre Bonaventura usually occupied. 

She found him in the last chapel on the left, by the 
door of the sacristy, in the act of shaking hands with 
Castiglione, who was evidently taking leave of him. 
Coming upon them so suddenly when the evening glow 
through the upper windows made the church very Hght, 
it was out of the question to draw back into the shadow. 
The monk saw her first, but Castighone turned his head 
a second later, and the three were standing together. 

Maria drew herself up very straight in the effort to 
check a cry of surprise, and Castiglione made rather a 
stiff military bow ; but she saw his eyes in the rosy light, 
and he saw hers. A moment later he was gone, and her 
ears followed the musical little jingle of his spurs as 
he went down the nave towards the door, near which 
Giuliana Parenzo was kneehng. 


322 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


But while she listened she was looking into the monk^s 
face, and her own was pale and had a frightened ex- 
pression. 

^It could not be helped,’ he said in a low voice. 
did not know he was coming, and you are here early. If 
there is any fault it is mine.’ 

Maria listened in silence. He held out the sealed en- 
velope Castigiione had brought him, and she saw the 
well-known writing. 

^This is addressed to me,’ continued Padre Bona- 
ventura, ^but I give it to you unopened. It contains a 
document which will reheve you of all anxiety about your 
letters.’ 

^Already!’ 

^ Yes. He has lost no time. He is a man of action.’ 

The monk could not withhold a word of admiration, 
and Maria felt the warmth in her cheeks. 

Hndeed he is !’ she answered in a low voice. ^ Thank 
him for me ! ’ 

H have thanked him. That is enough, and we may 
never meet again.’ 

H may at least be grateful to you,’ Maria said. 

^My share has been small. I must leave you now, for 
there is some one waiting to confess.’ 

He left the chapel, but Maria remained a few moments 
longer. When she was sure that no one could see her 
she slipped the sealed envelope inside her frock, for she 
did not hke to trust it to the little bag in which she carried 
her cards, her handkerchief, and her money. She had 
almost forgotten Giuhana till she met her standing by the 


CHAP. XXI 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


323 


door, and saw the look of surprise and reproach in her 
eyes. 

They went down the steps side by side in silence, and 
neither spoke till the carriage was moving again. 

really think you might choose some other place in 
which to meet,' said Giuhana at last. 

Maria had expected something of the sort from her 
impeccable friend. 

^We met by accident, and we did not speak,’ she an- 
swered quietly, for she knew that appearances were 
against her. 

did not know that he ever entered a church,’ re- 
turned Giuliana, who was well acquainted with Castigli- 
one’s opinions in matters of religion. 

^Very rarely — at least, when I knew him.’ 

Maria was not inchned to say more, and Giuhana 
thought the explanation anything but sufficient. Maria 
had always been very truthful, but when unassailable 
virtue is suspicious it always goes to extremes, and teUs 
us that the devil is everywhere, whereas, since he is 
usually described as an individual, and by no means as 
divine, it is hard to see how he can be in two places at 
once. Maria was aware of her friend’s state of mind, 
but was too much occupied with her own thoughts to 
pay any more attention to it after having told the truth. 
Tlie sealed envelope that came from Castiglione’s hand 
lay inside her frock, upon her neck, somewhat to the left, 
and it was burning her and sending furious little thrills 
through her; yet it would have to lie there at least an- 
other hour while she made visits with Giuhana. 


324 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


She left the latter at her home at last, and they had 
never parted so coldly in the course of their long friend- 
ship. When Maria was alone in her carriage, in the 
dark, she opened her frock again and took out the en- 
velope and put it into her bag, for she could not bear to 
let it touch her any longer, and the recollection of Cas- 
tighone’s eyes had not faded yet. 

To drive the vision of him away she thought of Giu- 
liana, and reflected upon the extreme foohshness of her 
friend^s suspicions. If the two had meant to meet in the 
chapel, though only for an instant, it would have been 
easy to warn Castighone that Giuhana was in the church, 
and that he must wait for her to go away before showing 
himself. 

The carriage descended the Via Nazionale on the way 
home, and had gone a himdred yards further when it 
stopped short, to Maria’s surprise, and at the same mo- 
ment she saw a villainous face almost flattened against the 
glass. Telemaco turned the horses suddenly to the 
right and drove quickly along the Piazza dei Santi Apos- 
toli, which was almost deserted. The Countess dropped 
the front window of the brougham and asked what was 
the matter. 

'There is a riot in Piazza di Venezia, Excellency. 
They are throwing stones.’ 

Maria raised the glass again. It was only another 
strike, she thought, or an anarchist’s funeral, and the 
carriage would go round by another way. Such dis- 
turbances were frequent that winter, but never seemed 
to have any serious consequences. 


C2HAP. XXI 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


325 


When she was at last alone in her boudoir she cut the 
envelope and spread out the sheet it contained. It was 
strange to be reading something written in Castighone^s 
handwriting, and to feel that it was her duty to read it. 

This was what she read : — 

'I, the undersigned, proprietor of a gambling-house in 
Via Belsiana, and representing Orlando Schmidt, the 
absconding steward of the Count of Montalto, and my 
accomphces calling themselves Carlo Pozzi of Palermo 
and Paolo Pizzuti of Messina, do hereby declare and con- 
fess that the photographs of seven letters, more or less, 
purporting to be written by Her Excellency the Countess 
of Montalto, by means of which I, and my aforesaid 
accomplices, have criminally attempted to extort money 
from her, are reproduced from forgeries executed by the 
aforesaid Orlando Schmidt, who had surreptitiously ob- 
tained specimens of Her Excellency’s handwriting. 
Rome, this eleventh day of January 1906. 

^Rodolfo Blosse. 

^Witness: Baldassare del Castiglione, 

^Piedmont Lancers.^ 

Castiglione had not hesitated to force the blackmailer 
to declare the letters to be forgeries. Maria guessed why 
he had done that, as she sat reading the paper a second 
time. He had suspected Schmidt of having really forged 
such words as she would never have written, she thought ; 
and he had in some way extracted the truth from the 
man who signed the paper. In that case her danger had 
been even greater than she had imagined. What abomi- 


326 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART a 


nations might not have been forged in her handwriting ! 
Yes, Castighone was a man of action, indeed, as the monk 
had said. Poor Montalto had hesitated and done noth- 
ing for days, and in a httle while some vile newspaper 
would have scattered broadcast a scandal from which 
no recovery would have been possible. But within 
twenty-four hours after she had spoken to Padre Bona- 
ventura the man who loved her had found the chief 
criminal and had made him sign a document, on the 
strength of which no judge would hesitate to send the 
whole gang to penal servitude. ^Witness, Baldassare 
del Castiglione’; the well-loved name rang in her ears, 
the name of a man on whose honour there was no slur 
before the world, nor any in her inmost thoughts now; 
a name after which every officer and non-commissioned 
officer in the regiment would write his own bhndfold, 
if need were, because they all knew him and trusted 
him. 

She folded the paper slowly, letting her fingers hnger 
where his had touched it last, and she put it back into 
the cut envelope and looked at the seal. It was the same 
he had used long ago, in the dark ages of her life — a 
plain, old-fashioned shield with his simple arms and the 
motto in Latin : Si omnes ego non. 

Maria knew whence it was taken, with but a shght 
change. There was a mark in the margin of her old 
missal at the Gospel for Wednesday in Holy Week op- 
posite the words, and the whole Hne read, 'Though all 
forsake Thee, I will not forsake Thee.^ She had never 
had the courage to erase that mark, not even in the years 


CHAP. XXI 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


327 


when she had deceived herself. Year after year, when 
the day came round, she had read the noble words ; and 
many times she had read them bitterly, thinking of what 
followed afterwards and of him who, having spoken them, 
c 'uied not once but thrice, and with an oath. She read 
them now on the dark wax, under the bright light, and 
after a httle while she pressed the seal gently to her hps, 
the seal that held the motto she loved, not the paper he 
had touched. 

^In all honour/ she said gravely, under her breath. 


CHAPTER XXII 


Soon after five o^clock the Duca di Casaimaggiore sent 
in his card to Monsieur de Maurienne. The diplomatist 
was engaged in examining an etching by Robetta with a 
huge lens, under a strong light, and was too much inter- 
ested to desist until the Colonel was actually in the room. 
He received his visitor, whom he knew very well, with 
that formal courtesy which is considered becoming when 
an affair of honour is to be discussed. He had expected 
a couple of officers of Castiglione^s rank, and had asked 
two of his own friends to hold themselves in readiness if 
he telephoned for them. He was surprised that only one 
representative should appear for his adversary, and that 
he should be no less a personage than the Colonel of the 
regiment. 

Casaimaggiore did not even seem inchned to behave 
with the solemn gravity required on such an occasion. 
He sat down on a comfortable chair and laid his laced 
cap unceremoniously upon a little table he found at 
his elbow, instead of holding it in his hand and sitting bolt 
upright with his sabre between his knees. De Mau- 
rienne thought that Italians took duelling in much too 
free and easy a way, and he stiffened a little and sat very 
straight. He was not prepared for what was coming. 
Casaimaggiore spoke in French. 

328 


CHAP. XXII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


329 


shall begin by making a little apology/ he said, lean- 
ing back and folding his gloved hands. 

De Maurienne’s eyebrows went up, high above the 
gold rims of his glasses, and he spoke in a pohtely icy tone. 

^Indeed ! I cannot see how any can be required from 
your side, under the circumstances!’ 

^Not from our friend Castighone,’ answered the 
Colonel, ^but on my own behalf. I must really beg 
your pardon beforehand for what I am going to say — 
always placing myself entirely at your disposal if I 
should unintentionally offend you. Is that quite clear ?’ 

^Perfectly.’ 

^ Thank you. You are the victim of an unworthy 
trick, my dear de Maurienne. I am going to take the 
liberty of explaining exactly what has happened to you, 
by giving you the details of what had just occurred when 
you entered Donna Teresa Crescenzi’s drawing-room.’ 

De^Maurienne looked at his visitor in surprise, and not 
without some suspicion. 

'Donna Teresa is a connection of mine,’ observed 
Casalmaggiore, 'and I know her extremely well. What 
I have to say about her should not offend you. Castigli- 
one came to me this afternoon and told me the story. 
I know him to be a perfectly truthful and honourable 
man, and I know that he is incapable of fear. Indeed, 
he does not know what fear is.’ 

'Allow me to say,’ said de Maurienne, 'that with us, 
in France, matters of this kind are discussed between 
the friends of the principals. Is the practice different 
in your country?’ 


330 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


‘Not at all. But this is quite another sort of affair. 
I, personally, give you my word that what I am going 
to tell you is what really happened. You will understand 
that if as colonel, give my word for that of one of my 
officers, I am fully aware of the responsibihty I under- 
take.’ 

‘This changes the aspect of things, I admit,’ said de 
Maurienne gravely, but less coldly. 

He had never been placed in such a position, nor had 
he ever heard of just such a case. 

‘Practically,’ continued the Colonel, ‘it transfers all 
the responsibihty to me. I know Castighone to be a 
man of accurate memory, and as soon as he was gone I 
wrote down precisely what he had told me. Here it is.’ 

He took out his note-book, found the place, and 
read aloud a precise account of what had passed between 
Teresa Crescenzi and Castighone up to the moment when 
de Maurienne had entered the room. De Maurienne 
hstened attentively. 

‘My cousin — her father was my mother’s cousin — 
is a very ingenious woman,’ concluded Casalmaggiore 
with a smile, and pocketing his notes again. ‘I am 
sorry to say that I have laiown her to exhibit her in- 
genuity in even more surprising ways than this.’ 

‘She told me that Castighone had accused her of 
meeting me in an equivocal place,’ said de Maurienne. 

‘No doubt. We are rather afraid of her in Rome, and 
very much so in the family.’ 

‘Wliat is her object in ah this?’ 

‘I hope I do not offend you by saying that my good 


CHAP. XXII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


331 


cousin has determined to marry you/ answered Casal- 
maggiore, still smiling faintly. ‘I should not expect 
you to share her enthusiasm on that point. It would 
not be precisely tactful of me to ask if I am right, but I 
shall be so free as to take it for granted. That being the 
case, you cannot fail to see that if she led you into a 
duel on her account, she would thereby be forcing you 
to compromise her to such an extent that many persons 
would think you ought to marry her as a matter of 
honour. If a man even distantly related to her, such as 
I myself, for instance, took up a quarrel for her, there 
would be at least the excuse of relationship, but there 
is not the shadow of a reason why you should do such a 
thing, even if there were any cause ! That is aU I have 
to say. I repeat that I am at your disposal, if I have 
said anything to offend you.’ 

Monsieur de Maurienne was perfectly brave, and 
though he was no duellist, and not even a good fencer, 
he would have faced the first swordsman in Europe 
without turning a hair; it is therefore no aspersion on 
his courage to say that he was afraid to marry Teresa 
Crescenzi, though he thought her very pretty and amus- 
ing, if a httle vivid. The point explained by the Colonel 
had not escaped him either, and he had spent a very 
unpleasant afternoon. 

He considered the matter for a few moments before 
he spoke. 

'You have done me a great service,’ he said. 'I 
have known Castighone several months, and, without 
any disrespect to Donna Teresa, I must say that I was 


332 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


not fully persuaded of the exactness of what she told 
me. I thought your cousin^s manner a little strained — 
let us put it in that way.^ 

‘It is impossible to speak of a lady with greater con- 
sideration/ said Casalmaggiore. 

‘But I was placed in a difficult position, and very 
suddenly. Such things happen now and then. Per- 
haps, in the same situation, you yourself, or Castiglione, 
would have acted as hastily as I did.’ 

‘Quite so. Even more hastily, perhaps.’ 

The Colonel was thinking that under the circumstances 
he would have told Donna Teresa exactly what he 
thought of her, taking advantage of relationship to be 
extremely plain. 

‘Castighone,’ continued de Maurienne, ‘behaved in 
the most honourable and forbearing way. I take great 
pleasure in saying that I sincerely regret the offensive 
expressions I used, and that I entertain the highest re- 
spect for him. Will you permit me? I will write him 
a short note, by your kindness.’ 

‘Thank you. It will be much appreciated.’ 

A quarter of an hour later Castighone’s orderly re- 
ceived another shock to his nerves. When he answered 
the bell and saw his colonel on the landing, re- 
splendent in a perfectly new uniform, the trooper 
flattened himself at attention against the open door 
with such precision and violence that the back of his 
head struck the panel with a crack like a pistol shot, 
his eyes almost started out of his head, and he was 
completely speechless. 


CHAP. XXII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


333 


The Captain was in his sitting-room, poring over a 
new German book on the functions of cavalry in war, 
and a well-worn dictionary lay at his elbow. He started 
to his feet in smprise. 

‘I think you will find this satisfactory,’ said Casal- 
maggiore, handing him de Maurienne’s note and sitting 
down. 

Castiglione read the contents quickly, still [standing. 

‘What in the world did you tell him?’ he asked in 
amazement. 

‘The truth,’ answered the Colonel, suppressing a 
slight yawn, for the whole affair had bored him exces- 
sively. ‘ It is amazing what miracles the truth will per- 
form where everything else fails ! If Teresa could only 
reahse that, she would simphfy her existence. As you 
have not gone to bed, in spite of my advice, come and 
dine with me. I’ve got another idea about that mare, 
and I should hke to talk it over with you. I think it 
will succeed.’ 

Castiglione laughed a little. 

‘I will come with pleasure,’ he said. ‘What is the 
new idea ? I thought you developed the subject pretty 
fully this afternoon.’ 

‘This has occurred to me since,’ answered Casalmag- 
giore gravely. He was silent for a moment, pursuing his 
favourite scheme. ‘Castiglione,’ he said, rising suddenly 
and looking at his watch, ‘if you ever let Teresa guess 
that I have interfered with her plans. I’ll court-martial 
you !’ 

‘Never fear !’ The Captain laughed again. 


334 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


^As for leave, I’m glad you would not take your two 
days. There is a general strike again, and we shall cer- 
tainly have some patrol work to do, if nothing worse. 
After you had left me I got another message from head- 
quarters.’ 


CHAPTER XXIII 


Two days later Montalto informed Maria after luncheon 
that he had an appointment with the Chief of Police at 
three o’clock, and had decided to lay the whole matter 
before him and to leave it altogether in his hands. It 
had taken Montalto almost a week to reach this final 
decision, and Maria had devoutly hoped that he would 
never act at all. She thought it would be fike him to 
put off doing anything till he convinced himself that the 
blackmailer’s letter had been an idle threat, never to be 
put into execution; but she was mistaken in this, for 
Montalto never left quite undone what he believed that 
it was his duty to do, and in the present case, though he 
had been so slow, he was really in much greater apprehen- 
sion of a scandal than Maria understood. 

The people who are the hardest to live with are often 
those who speak the truth, and nothing but the truth, 
but not the whole truth. It is never possible to be sure 
what they are hiding from us out of prudence or shyness,, 
prudishness or delicacy: it is the most difficult thing m 
the world to find out precisely what they know and what 
they do not know, without putting direct questions which 
would be little short of insulting. 

Montalto was such a man. His power of keeping his 
own counsel without telling an untruth was amazing ; and 
336 


336 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


his own counsel was not always wise. It was this char- 
acteristic of his which had twice suggested to Maria, in 
moments of despair, that he had come back to revenge 
himself upon her by systematically torturing her to 
death. Mediocrity is never so exasperating as when it 
affects to be inscrutable. 

have not thought it best to talk much with you about 
the letters, my dear,^ Montalto said. 'In such cases it is 
the man’s business to act.’ 

Maria smiled faintly. She foresaw much useless 
trouble if he carried out the intention he had been so long 
in formulating, though she knew nothing of the ways of 
the police. For two whole days she had hved in the cer- 
tainty that she was safe, and the thought that the whole 
story was to be told again, to a stranger and by her hus- 
band, was very disturbing. On the other hand it seemed 
all but impossible to show Montalto the blackmailer’s 
confession, written in Castighone’s handwriting, and 
signed by him as a witness. 

'Perhaps,’ she suggested, 'since it is already so near 
the eighth day, we had better wait until they write a 
second time, as the letter said they would.’ 

Montalto looked at her in sm-prise, and paused in the 
act of reconstructing one of his Havana cigarettes. 

'Why, my dear?’ he asked. 'You yourself m*ged 
me to act, before I had time to form an opinion, and you 
seemed distressed because I took a day or two to think 
it over; and now you suddenly advise me not to 
act at all. This is very strange. I do not understand 
you.’ 


CHAP. XXII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


337 


He waited for her to answer him, and he saw that she 
hesitated. 

‘You must have some very good reason for changing 
your mind so unexpectedly,^ he said, in a discontented 
tone, and resumed the rolling of his cigarette. 

Maria felt the difficulty of the situation, for which she 
was not in the least prepared; she had been very sure 
that he would not do anything in the matter, because she 
hoped that he would not. 

‘Also,' he continued, ‘why do you speak of more than 
one person?' 

‘More than one?' 

‘You said: until “they" write a second time. What 
reason have you to suppose that any one is concerned in 
this but Schmidt ? ' 

She had been thinking of the wording of the paper, 
of Blosse and his ‘accomphces.' 

‘The letter mentioned two other names,' she said. 

‘I have no doubt that Schmidt goes by twenty,' 
returned her husband testily. ‘You know very well that 
Pozzi and Pizzuti both stand for Schmidt!' 

He hghted his cigarette, and smoked in silence for 
some moments. 

‘I cannot understand why you have changed your 
mind,' he repeated at last. ‘You must have some reason.' 

Maria attempted a httle diplomacy. 

‘Don't you think a second letter, if it should come, 
might give a better clue for the pohce to work on, or 
might — what do they call it ? — strengthen the evidence 
against Schmidt?' 


338 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


'There is evidence enough already to send him 
to penal servitude, if we can catch hirn,^ answered 
Montalto. 'I really cannot see what more is 
needed 

'Except that — to catch him,^ suggested Maria. 'I 
really think that another letter ’ 

'Absurd!^ Montalto was seriously annoyed with her 
by this time. 'Something has happened to make you 
change your mind. Am I right or not ? ’ 

Maria turned a httle pale and bit her hp. But she 
would not tell an untruth. 

'Yes, something has happened,^ she answered. 

'What?’ The single word was pronounced with a 
good deal of sharpness. 

Maria turned to him. 

'I would rather not tell you,’ she said gently. 'It is 
quite useless for you to go to the police, for -the letters 
will not be published.’ 

She spoke in a tone of perfect certainty that surprised 
him. 

'You seem very sure,’ he said. 

'I am quite sure.’ 

'And you object to telling me why you are. Very 
strange ! ’ 

'I don’t "object,” Diego. I only say I would rather 
not. I ask you not to question me.’ 

'My dear,’ answered Montalto, 'only reflect upon what 
you are saying. In the first place, you are a woman, 
and you may be mistaken.’ 

'I am not. I assure you I am not.’ 


CHAP. XXIII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


339 


If she had been less anxious to pacify him she would 
have asked if men never made mistakes. 

confess I should like to judge of that, considering 
that the honour of my name is at stake/ said her husband. 

‘Your name is safe, and mine too. Please, please 
don’t ask me to tell you ! ’ 

‘Maria, there is some mystery about all this, and I can- 
not consent to let it go on. It must be cleared up. It 
is my duty to ask what you have done to stop the publi- 
cation of those letters.’ 

She made a last appeal. 

‘You have forgiven me so much, Diego. You have 
trusted me so much ! I only ask you to trust me now — 
there is nothing to forgive!’ 

‘You may as well say at once that you have sent a 
cheque to that scoundrel,’ said Montalto angrily. ‘You 
have thrown it away. He still has the photographs, and 
as soon as he wants more money he will threaten us 
again. I warned you not to do that!’ 

Maria hoped desperately that if she remained silent 
he would continue in this belief. But the obstinacy of 
an over-conscientious person who has a ‘duty’ to perform 
is appalling. 

‘Have you sent the money?’ he asked severely, as 
soon as he was sure that she did not mean to say any- 
thing in reply. 

‘No.’ 

‘Then you are ashamed of what you have done. 
There is no other explanation of your silence, my dear. 
You yourself must see that.’ 


340 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


He said ^my dear^ in a tone that exasperated her. 

^No/ she cried vehemently, ‘1 have done nothing to be 
ashamed of ! You must find some other explanation of 
my silence, if you insist on having one ! ^ 

^Your conduct is so extraordinary,^ Montalto replied, 
in an offended tone, Hhat I can only account for it in one 
way. Instead of trusting to me, you have allowed some 
one else to help you, and you are ashamed to tell me who 
the person is.’ 

H am not ashamed !’ Maria drew herself up now, and 
her dark eyes gleamed a httle. ^ But I will not tell you ! ’ 

'There is only one name you would be ashamed to let 
me hear in this matter. If you persist in your silence 
I shall know that you have been helped by Castiglione.’ 

Montalto’s eyes were a little bloodshot, and fixed 
themselves on hers. She did not hesitate any longer. 

'I never lied to you, and I am not ashamed of the 
truth, ^ she answered proudly. 'Baldassare del Castigh- 
one has helped me.’ 

Until she had actually told him so, in plain words, 
Montalto had wished not to believe what he had guessed. 
His face had been changing slowly, and now she saw 
once more, after many years, the look it had worn when 
he had first accused her, and she had bowed her head. 
When he spoke again she remembered the tone she had 
not heard since then. 

'As you are not ashamed to say so, I suppose you will 
not mind telling me what he did.’ 

'You shall see for yourself.’ 

She left the drawing-room, and he sat quite still dur- 


CHAP. XXIII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


341 


ing the few seconds that elapsed ; quite still, staring at the 
seat that she had left. For he loved her. When she 
came back she stood before him. He took the paper 
from her hand and read it with difficulty, though he had 
known the handwriting well enough in old times. He 
read it all, to the name of the regiment after Castighone’s 
signature. Then he handed back the paper. 

H have been mad,’ he said slowly and almost me- 
chanically. 

She misunderstood him. 

^ You see that I was right,’ she said. 'Your honour is 
safe.’ 

His face changed in a way that frightened her. She 
thought he was choking. An instant later he sprang 
to his feet and left her side, pressing both his hands to 
his ears hke a man raving. His voice rang out with a 
mad laugh. 

' My honour ! ’ 

Maria laid one hand on the back of the chair he had 
left, to steady herself, for the shock of understanding him 
was more than she could bear. Scarcely knowing that 
her Ups moved she caUed him back. 

' Diego ! Diego ! Hear me ! ’ 

' Hear you ? Have I not heard ? ’ He turned upon her 
Uke a madman. 'Have I not heard and remembered 
every word you have spoken, those eight months and 
more? How you would tear the memory of that man 
from your heart ? How you called God to witness that 
you would forget him? How you and he took an oath 
never to meet again? Have I not heard you, and for- 


342 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


given, and believed, and trusted, and loved you like the 
miserable fool lam? And you ask me to hear you again ? 
Oh, never, never! You have promised and you have 
hed to me, you have called God to witness and you have 
blasphemed, you have asked for trust and you have be- 
trayed me with that man — and now you tell me he has 
saved my honour. My honour I My honour 1 ^ 

Maria closed her eyes and grasped the chair. But 
she would not bend her head to the storm as she had 
bowed it long ago. 

‘I am innocent. I have done none of these things.’ 

She could find no other words, and he would not have 
listened to more, for he was beside himself and began to 
rave again, while she stood straight and white beside the 
chair. Sometimes his voice was thick, as his fury choked 
him, sometimes it was shrill and wild, when his rage 
found vent. But each time, as he paused, exhausted, 
to draw breath, her words came to him calm and clear 
in the moment’s stillness. 

‘I am innocent.’ 

His madness subsided by slow degrees, and then 
changed all at once, and he was again in the mood she 
remembered so well. He came and stood still two 
paces from her, his eyes all bloodshot but his face 
white. 

‘How dare you say you are innocent?’ he asked. 

She held out the envelope in which Castiglione’s writ- 
ing had come to her. 

‘It is addressed to my confessor, who gave it to me,’ she 
said. 


CHAP. XXIII THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


343 


He came nearer and steadied his eyes to read the 
name, for his sight was not very good. 

‘ Do you think such a trick as that can deceive me ? ’ 
he asked with cold scorn. 

‘Send for him/ said Maria. ‘Your carriage is at the 
door, for you were going out. Go and bring him here, 
for he will come.’ 

Montalto looked at her with a strange expression. 

‘Go to the Capuchins,’ she said calmly. ‘Ask for 
Padre Bonaventura, and bring him back in the carriage. 
He will not refuse you.’ 

‘Padre Bonaventura? Old Padre Bonaventura?’ 
He repeated the name in a dazed tone, for he knew it 
well, as many Romans did. 

‘Bring him here,’ Maria said. ‘He will tell you that 
it was he who went to Baldassare del Castiglione and 
asked his help and received this paper from him on the 
evening of the same day. He will tell you, too, that at 
the very moment when it was placed in his hands I came 
for the answer, and we met, face to face, and looked at 
each other ; but we did not speak, and Castiglione went 
away at once. Giuliana Parenzo was with me, and was 
waiting for me inside the door; she saw him go out a 
moment after we had come. Will you believe her? 
If you still think I am not telling the truth, will you 
believe my confessor ? ’ 

While she was speaking she looked at him with calm 
and clear eyes in the serenity of perfect innocence. And 
all at once he broke down and cried aloud with a wail 
of agony. 


344 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


‘Maria! What have 1 done?’ 

Then he was at her feet, his arms round her body, his 
face buried against her, sobbing hke a woman, as she 
had never sobbed, rocking himself to and fro hke a child, 
as he had rocked himself when he had first come back 
to her, kissing her skirt frantically. And his unmanly 
tears ran down upon the grey cloth. 

She felt a httle sick as she bent and tried to soothe 
him, forcing herself to lay kind hands upon his head, 
and then gently endeavouring to lift him to his feet, 
while he clasped her and implored her forgiveness in 
broken words. But she was very brave. He must not 
guess what she felt, nor feel that the hand that smoothed 
his hair grew cold from sheer loathing of what it touched. 

There are women hving who know what that is, and 
are brave for honour’s sake; but none are braver than 
Maria was on that day. She would not leave him for a 
moment, after that, imtil it was past seven o’clock. 
Little by little, as she talked and soothed him, she 
brought him back to himself, with the patience that 
angels have, and never need where all is peace. 

She had a respite then, and Giuliana Parenzo and 
Monsignor Saracinesca came to dinner, which made it 
easier. Afterwards, too, Montalto and his friend talked 
as usual and argued about Church and State, and no 
one would have suspected that the grave and courteous 
host, with his old-time formalities of manner and his 
rather solemn face, had raved and wept and dragged 
himself at his wife’s feet that very afternoon. 

The Marchesa was still inclined to show Maria a httle 


CHAP, xxm 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


345 


cool disapproval when she came. The younger woman 
felt it in the almost indifferent touch of her hand, and 
in the distinctly airy kiss that did not come near the 
cheek it was meant for. The two had not seen each other 
since they had gone to the Capuchin church together; 
but Giuliana, who was just and sensible, had made 
several reflections in the meantime, and had come to 
the conclusion that, after all, Maria and Castighone 
might have met by chance, though why in the world a 
man who believed in nothing should happen to be in 
a church, and in that particular one precisely at that 
hour, was more than she could explain. It was very 
odd, but perhaps Baldassare was converted; and the 
good Marchesa said a little prayer, quite in earnest, ask- 
ing that he might be. Possibly, she thought immediately 
afterwards, Maria had converted him, and she hoped 
this might be the case, as it would explain so many 
things. Giuliana herself had once attempted to in- 
fluence him, out of sheer goodness of heart, long ago, 
and had talked religion to him in a corner after a dinner 
party for a whole evening, a proceeding which might 
have started a little gossip about any other woman. 
She had tried to expound the Nicene Creed to him, article 
by article, but just as she reached the ‘Life of the World 
to come’ he fell sound asleep before her eyes, after one 
of the most puzzling and painful experiences in his 
recollection, for he had been in the saddle all day at a 
review, and the room was so warm that it made him 
understand the Descent into Hell in the only sense the 
words had ever conveyed to him. 


346 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


Confidence was presently restored between the friends 
and Giuliana began to talk about the news of the hour ; 
about strikes, as regarded from the ministerial point of 
view; about the probabihty that the Ministry would 
fall before Lent, merely on general principles, because 
that seems to be the critical time of year in pofitics, as it 
is for gouty patients ; and, lastly, about Teresa Crescenzi. 

‘ I am not given to prying into other people^s affairs,' 
Giuhana said, ‘ but I should really hke to know the truth 
about her and de Maurienne.' 

‘I fancy she will marry him in the end,' observed 
Maria, rather indifferently, for she was still thinking 
of the strikes and the disturbances in the streets, and 
wondering whether there was any risk in sending Leone 
all the way to school at the Istituto Massimo every 
morning, though his tutor took him there and brought 
him home. 

‘De Maurienne has left Rome very suddenly,' said 
Giuhana, ‘and I am inchned to think that Teresa is to 
be an “unprotected widow" a httle longer.' 

‘She must be gTowing used to it!' Maria laughed a 
httle. 

‘The French Ambassador told Sigismondo that de 
Maurienne had asked for leave very suddenly, and that, 
as he seems to think that diplomacy consists in the study 
of etchings, no objection had been made. Teresa is 
evidently furious. She says he told her that he was going 
to Paris in order to be present at an art sale, but that she 
beheves he has run away from a duel. Have you not 
heard that?' 


CHAP. XXIII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


347 


Giuliana looked at Maria quietly, but saw no change 
in the warm pallor of her friend’s face, nor the least 
quivering of the eyehds. 

‘No,’ Maria answered, unsuspectingly. ‘I have heard 
nothing. Does Teresa say who it was that wanted to 
fight with him?’ 

‘ Yes, but I don’t believe a word of it. She says it was 
Balduccio.’ 

‘Why in the world should he quarrel with Monsieur 
de Maurienne?’ Maria turned innocent eyes to meet 
Giuhana’s. 

‘Teresa does not explain that,’ laughed the Marchesa, 
‘ but she darkly hints that the affair which did not come 
off concerned herself ! ’ 

‘How silly she is !’ 

Indeed, the absurdity of the story was so apparent, 
that Maria would not ask any more questions. She 
was continually doing her best to keep Castiglione out 
of her thoughts, and the painful scene with her husband 
during the afternoon made it all the harder for her. 
She changed the subject. 

‘Giuliana,’ she asked, ‘shall you let your boys walk to 
school or even go in the tram while the strike lasts?’ 

‘Oh, yes!’ answered the Marchesa. ‘But the trams 
have stopped this afternoon. Have you not been out? 
The boys walk in the morning, for there is never any 
disturbance till much later. All good anarchists dine 
comfortably, and often too well, before they go out to howl 
in the streets.’ 

She laughed carelessly. 


348 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


‘I daresay you are right/ Maria answered. never 
let Leone be out in the city on foot or in trams after 
luncheon. Three or four times a week he rides with 
Diego in the Campagna, and they generally go as far as 
one of the city gates in a cab, but I always send Diego’s 
little brougham to fetch them. I’m afraid they may 
both catch cold in a cab after riding.’ 

‘Your husband is very fond of it, is he not?’ 

‘Yes, and he rides well, and looks well on a horse — 
particularly on that lovely little Andalusian mare he 
brought from Spain.’ 

‘The one the Duca di Casahnaggiore is so anxious to 
buy?’ inquired Giuliana. 

‘The Colonel of the Piedmont Lancers?’ Maria won- 
dered whether her friend was trying to lead the conver- 
sation back to Castighone again. ‘I did not know he 
wanted her.’ 

‘My dear! He thinks of nothing else! He would 
like to make it an affair of State. The other day he 
came to see Sigismondo and talked about the mare for 
three-quarters of an hour, trying to induce him to use 
his influence with me, to use my influence with you, to 
use your influence with your husband, to induce him 
to sell the Andalusian for twenty thousand francs ! I 
think he must be quite mad ! It is an enormous price 
for a saddle-horse, and he has offered it through half a 
dozen people. I wonder that Diego should not have 
spoken of it to you.’ 

‘He never tells me anything,’ Maria replied. ‘But 
I can guess what he must have answered. He probably 


CHAP. XXIII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


349 


said that the Count of Montalto buys horses but does not 
sell them ! ’ 

Giuhana laughed. 

‘I did not know you could be so malicious, Maria! 
That is precisely what he did say.’ 

‘I did not mean to say anything disagreeable, I’m 
sure,’ returned Maria. ‘That is Diego’s way; he is 
old-fashioned. The idea that a Count of the Holy 
Roman Empire could possibly sell anything never oc- 
curred to him.’ 

‘My father is just like him in that,’ observed Giuliana. 

‘So was mine ! It is the reason why he left me only 
just enough to hve comfortably, instead of several mill- 
ions. If I had not been his only child we should have 
starved 1’ 

‘We were ten, and nine of us are alive.’ Giuliana 
laughed. ‘ When my father and mother were sixty — 
you know they are just the same age — there were 
thirty-two at table, between us and our children ! ’ 

‘Look at the Saracinesca family,’ said Maria. ‘Old 
Prince Giovanni was an only son, I believe, and now 
they are like the sands by the sea ! As far as numbers 
go, there is no fear of the old Roman families dying out I ’ 

‘Your husband was an only son, was he not ? ’ Giuliana 
asked. 

‘Yes.’ 

‘And you have only ’ The Marchesa checked 

herself — ‘yes,’ she concluded with that extreme vague- 
ness that comes over us all when we have half said some- 
thing quite tactless. 


350 


A LADY OF ROME 


PABT II 


But Maria chose to complete the thought. 

‘Yes/ she said quietly, but not at all vaguely. 'Do 
you wonder that I am anxious about letting my only 
child go about on foot when there are strikes ? ^ 

'No, dear, I don’t wonder at all, though I do not 
think there is any real danger.’ 

'I suppose presentiments are very foohsh,’ Maria 
observed thoughtfully. 'Do they ever trouble you, 
Giuliana ? ’ 

'Not often. But I remember once being oppressed 
with the certainty that Sigismondo was going to die 
in the course of the winter. It haunted me day and 
night for weeks and weeks. I used to dream that he was 
lying dead on the dining-room table. It was always the 
dining-room table, and at last I got nervous about sitting 
down at it.’ 

'Well? Did anything happen?’ Maria seemed in- 
terested. 

'Oh, yes ! The children had the mumps.’ She spoke 
thoughtfully. 

Very sensible people who are by no means stupid 
sometimes say things that would disgrace an idiot child. 
But Maria did not laugh. 

'The other night, after I had left you,’ she said, 'there 
was some sort of demonstration in the Piazza di Venezia, 
and the carriage stopped a moment before turning an- 
other way. A man looked through the window, trying 
to see me in the dark. I could see him plainly under the 
electric light. It was a horrible face, flattened against 
the pane, and though I did not pay much attention to it 


CHAP. XXIII 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


351 


at the time, it comes back to me and frightens me when 
I know that Leone is out in the streets with his tutor. 
Perhaps he is only going to have the mumps!’ 

She tried to laugh now. 

‘A tutor is generally supposed to be a sufficient pro- 
tection for a boy,’ observed Giuhana, not much impressed. 
^ Yours is a good-sized man too, and Sigismondo always 
says that keeping order in a city depends on the delusion 
that big men are more dangerous than short men. At 
all events most people think they are, and your tutor 
looks hke an ex-carabineer.’ 

‘I’m sure he is a coward,’ said Maria nervously. ‘He 
would think only of saving himself if there were any 
danger I I’m sm*e of it.’ 

‘It’s all imagination, my dear,’ said the practical Mar- 
chesa. ‘Your love for the boy makes you fancy that all 
sorts of impossible things are going to happen to him.’ 

‘Giuhana — perhaps I’m very foolish to be made 
wretched by a presentiment, but if any harm came to 
Leone ’ 

She stopped short. The conventional phrase ‘I 
should die’ was on her hps, but before it was spoken she 
reahsed that it meant nothing to her, and checked herself. 

‘ Of course, of course ! ’ answered Giuhana in a motherly 
tone. ‘I quite understand that. I’m fond of my chil- 
dren, too ; I know just what you feel.’ 

‘It’s not the same for you, Giuhana,’ said Maria in a 
low tone. ‘I’ve only Leone, you know.’ 

‘Leone and your husband,’ corrected Unassailable Vir- 
tue. 


352 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


^ Yes, Leone and my husband/ 

Maria did not resent the correction. Even Giuliana 
did not suspect that she was desperately unhappy in 
more ways than one, and it was better so ; but she silently 
thought of what her hfe would be if Leone were taken 
and her husband were left. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


The strike was an obstinate one, and lasted longer than 
had been expected. This story is not concerned with the 
theories or the practices of the so-called Chamber of 
Labour in Italy. It is enough to say that the organisa- 
tion has neither the importance nor the intelligence of 
similar bodies in other great countries, and that instead 
of tending to the scientific sociahsm of Rebel, its leaders, 
or its tyrants, are distinctly of the anarchist class, and all 
they know about the French Revolution is that it had 
a Reign of Terror which they hanker to restore. There 
are true sociahsts in Italy, as there are many true re- 
publicans, but they must not be classed with the raving 
rowdies who force honest workmen to leave their work 
and who howl and throw stones in the streets. Beyond 
this, nothing need be said about the general strike during 
which the Countess of Montalto was haunted by a tor- 
menting presentiment that something dreadful was going 
to happen to her son. 

The facts, so far as they affected her, were simple 
enough. During some days the instigators of disturb- 
ance appeared at more or less regular hours, chiefly in the 
neighbourhood of the Piazza di Venezia, where they 
made wild and foolish speeches that stirred up a row 
which occasionally led to the throwing of a few stones. 

2 a 353 


354 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


The city police and the foot carabineers then appeared 
to disperse the crowd, and generally succeeded in doing 
so without trouble when it was ready for its supper, or 
tired of its amusement, or had any sufficient reason for 
going home. There was not much more spirit in the 
whole thing than there used to be in the last days of 
town-and-gown rows in Oxford and Cambridge. But 
such as the disturbances were, they had become a great 
nuisance, and the strike itself was extremely irritating 
to all the better classes, to whom it was a source of great 
inconvenience. 

The city authorities asked Headquarters for troops, 
Headquarters asked the War Office, the War Office asked 
the Ministry, and the Ministry, being rather shaky just 
then, did nothing in particular. Nevertheless, the orders 
usual at such times were quietly issued, the troops in 
garrison were in readiness if needed, and no more leave 
was granted to officers or men. 

Meanwhile the Romans grew tired of the whole sense- 
less affair, by which everybody was losing money and no- 
body was gaining anything, and the more respectable 
citizens felt that it was time that law and order should be 
restored. The simplest plan, since no troops were forth- 
coming, seemed to be to help the police in arresting 
rioters who objected to being handcuffed ; for the pohce- 
men did their best, and on the whole did well, with a good 
deal of forbearance, but the result was not always satis- 
factory, and many of the force were more or less badly 
hurt ; very few were hit by bullets, for a revolver is one 
of the safest playthings in the world except when every- 


CHAP, XXIV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


355 


body is quite sure that it is not loaded, and then it usually 
kills some one on the spot ; but a good many men were 
badly wounded by stones, some were severely beaten, 
and several were stabbed. 

On the day when Giuliana dined with her friend it had 
happened that two policemen were trying to secure a 
big rioter who defended himself vigorously with a stout 
blackthorn stick, and they were getting the worst of it. 
The hour was just after twelve o’clock, when a number 
of Government clerks had left a neighbouring public 
office together, to get their mid-day meal at an eating- 
house ; and they stopped in a body and watched the fight. 

One of the policemen received a blow that almost broke 
his arm, but the other almost immediately caught the 
striker’s heavy stick and tried to wrench it away; and 
still the knot of Government clerks watched the struggle. 
In sheer exasperation the man who had been hurt spoke 
to the bystanders. 

^You might help us, instead of standing there looking 
on ! ’ he cried. 

The httle body of respectable men, who had supposed 
that they had no right to interfere, did not need any 
further invitation. They sprang forward, threw the 
man down, and proceeded to administer a sound thrash- 
ing with their sticks, after which they held him while the 
astonished and delighted policeman shpped on the hand- 
cuffs. Not feeling that their duty ended there, the clerks 
followed quietly in a body till they saw the prisoner 
passed into the nearest police station ; after which they 
went to lunch. 


356 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


The matter did not end there. The news of what they 
had done spread from mouth to mouth in a few hours, and 
their example was followed by other citizens. The po- 
hcemen went about in pairs, and before night each couple 
of them was under the protection of a dozen or fifteen 
sober, respectable citizens, who walked behind at some 
distance, chatting and smoking, but armed with service- 
able sticks. The police scored no more failures in effect- 
ing arrests during the afternoon, and there was no crowd 
in the Piazza di Venezia at sunset. 

But the matter did not end there either. If the citi- 
zens protected the police, the Chamber of Labour, as it 
calls itself, would protect the rowdies. They needed it 
too, for on the next morning the citizens went about in 
considerable force, and when they came upon a sus- 
picious-looking individual they asked him civilly if he 
were a striker. If he answered in the affirmative they 
gave him a good drubbing and left him to his meditations. 
In most cases the man denied the imputation indignantly 
and made off at a round pace. The decent working men 
stayed at home, as they had done from the beginning, 
and mourned the hour when they had joined the Cham- 
ber of Labour. 

The rowdies showed fight, in accordance with the reso- 
lutions passed on the previous evening, and began to 
parade the streets in bands, many of them carrying re- 
volvers in their pockets, and a good many armed with 
the much more dangerous knife, which Alphonse Karr 
used to call the ^weapon of precision.^ The citizens had 
only their sticks, but they made good use of them. They 


CHAP. XXIV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


357 


meant to represent law and order, and knives and pistols 
are forbidden weapons. Excepting the places where the 
two parties were actually in colhsion, the city was silent. 
The shops opening directly on the pavement were shut; 
the cabmen, who belonged to the Chamber of Labour, 
were also on strike, but most of them, as it afterwards 
turned out, were having a quiet hohday in the country. 
The trams were not running, for drivers and conductors 
belonged to the organisation, and the Municipality or 
the Government was afraid to man the cars with sol- 
diers. A few private carriages were to be seen, but the 
ooccupants as well as the coachmen were in considerable 
danger. 

Nevertheless, a good many people walked about as if 
nothing were happening. It was not a revolution; the 
Government offices and schools were open, the strikers 
had no reason for interfering with the postal telegraph 
offices, and the railway-men could no longer strike be- 
cause a recent law had decreed that they were not work- 
ing men but Govermnent servants. The trains therefore 
ran regularly ; almost all the banks were open and were 
protected by policemen in plain clothes ; the Pincio and 
the Villa Borghese were almost as full of nurses and chil- 
dren as usual on a fine winter’s day, and officers and 
civilians exercised their horses on the small course and 
in the meadow within the ring. Altogether, the state of 
things would have looked rather contradictory anywhere 
but in Rome, where it seems as if nothing can ever happen 
in the ordinary way. If any truthful and industrious 
person hke Villani, or Sanudo of Venice, is quietly keep- 


358 


A LADY OF ROME 


PABT U 


ing a chronicle of daily events in Rome at the present 
day, and if his manuscript comes to light fifty years hence, 
he will not be believed. It is true that all industrious 
persons are not truthful, but since Aristotle admits that 
even a woman or a slave may possibly be good, some good- 
natured people will perhaps allow that a novelist may 
sometimes write the truth. 

Maria had passed a wretched night. After the two 
guests had gone Montalto had come to her room and had 
poured out ail his remorse for his mad conduct, entreat- 
ing her over and over again to forgive him, not breaking 
down in tears, but overwhelming her with every assur- 
ance and proof of his almost insane love. It was late 
when he left her at last, but she could not sleep then. 
Every nerve in her body was quivering from the effort 
of self-control, her teeth were on edge, and when she 
closed her weary eyes she saw wheels of fire. She had 
gone to the chapel in her nightdress to say her prayers, 
heedless of the cold air and the icy marble pavement, 
and she had knelt there more than half an hour, trying 
to recover herself ; not that she could think much of the 
words her lips silently formed, but because the solemn 
stillness helped her, and the restful certainty that noth- 
ing of what she had left behind could touch her there. 

She went back to her room, and after three o’clock she 
fell asleep from utter exhaustion, because she was really 
a very sound and normal woman, and the human 
machine had run down, like a clock. Men have slept 
in battle. 

Yet her natural elasticity was so great that in the 


CHAP. XXIV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


359 


morning, when she glanced at her face in the looking- 
glass, she saw that it hardly looked tired. There was 
only a shghtly deeper shadow under her eyes to show that 
she had not slept enough, and that would soon go away, 
and she would be quite herself again. 

She had not dreamt that anything had happened to 
Leone, for she had been too worn out to dream at all, 
and she was a little ashamed of her presentiments and 
fears. The weather never affected her very much, but 
the sun was streaming into her room with the crisp morn- 
ing air, and she had opened both windows wide to let 
out the stale odour of a cigarette her husband had 
smoked before he left her. The smell of his Havana 
cigarettes had always been intensely disagreeable to her, 
though she would not let him guess it, and this morning 
it seemed positively nauseous. There was the nasty 
little end of one of them, with some ashes, in a httle silver 
dish which she emptied into the fireplace; then she 
blew into it, and poured some lavender water into it, 
and dried it out with a handkerchief before she rang 
for her maid. 

That was instinctive. She always did it when he had 
smoked in her room at night, and she was unconscious 
that it meant anything more than she had intended it to 
mean when she had done it for the first time, many 
months ago, on the morning after his return to Rome. 
But somehow the process had become S3mibolical, though 
she did not know that it had ; it signified getting rid of 
the recollection of his presence. 

She asked her maid if Leone had gone to school yet. 


360 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


and was told that he and his tutor had left the house at 
the usual hour. The maid had heard the tutor ask a 
footman whether the Count was awake, and on learning 
that he had not rung for his valet, the tutor inquired 
whether any orders had been left about taking Leone 
to school. The Count had left none, the footman said, 
and went on with his work. 

Maria asked if the maid had heard any noises in the 
street or the square, or anything hke rioting. The maid 
smiled. At that hour in the morning ! How could her 
mistress think of such a thing ? 

As if, because Rome is an old-fashioned city, street- 
fights could only take place decently, and at regular 
hours ! But Maria felt reassured by the woman’s 
tone, and remembered how confidently her friend had 
spoken in the evening. One of her reasons for liking 
Giuliana so much was that she was so sohdly sensible, 
and so sensibly good. Teresa Crescenzi had once said 
before a gay party in the old days that it was of no use 
to have Giuliana’s face and figure if you were going to 
be a monster of virtue, and when Maria had made a half- 
laughing retort Teresa had said that Maria did not look 
upon Giuliana as a necessity, nor as a luxury, but as a 
comfort; which was to some extent true; and Teresa 
had gone on to say it was a pure waste of good material 
that anybody who was so impeccably virtuous as the 
Marchesa should know how to dress so well; and every 
one had laughed. 

Maria had her tiny breakfast in her boudoir, tea and 
a shce of toast with an infinitesimal layer of butter, after 


CHAP XXIV THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


361 


the way of most southern people, and she felt better able 
to face the day than had seemed possible when she had 
fallen asleep after three o’clock. She had brought with 
her from Via San Martino the little service she had used 
during so many years, and the sight of it in the morn- 
ing always revived the momentary illusion of freedom. 
Memory loves to play with toys — perhaps because it 
knows how to use the knife so well. 

The small meal occupied her longer than usual; she 
filled her cup a second time and took another httle bit 
of toast. The hour had come when she usually went to 
say good morning to her husband in his study, but she 
had risen late, according to her own ideas, and the time 
had come too soon. But if she did not go to him, he 
would presently come to her to ask in a petulantly 
affectionate way whether she had forgotten him. To-day 
he would perhaps think that she had not quite forgiven 
him for yesterday’s scene, and there would be another. 
The thought chilled her, and she touched the button of 
the bell — a pretty button Giuhana had given her, 
made of a cat’s-eye set in a small block of Chinese jade 
that lay on the corner of the table. The maid came to 
take away the things. 

'Is the Count in his study?’ inquired Maria. 'Please 
ask.’ 

But the maid knew that he had not rung for his man, 
and was probably still asleep; for a person who had 
apphed for the vacant place of steward was waiting in 
the ante-chamber, though he had come at ten o’clock, 
by appointment, to be interviewed by the Count. In 


362 


A LADY OP ROME 


PART II 


fact, the valet had suggested to the maid that she might 
ask her mistress whether it would not be better to wake 
his Excellency, as it was so late, and he did not like to 
oversleep himself. 

^Not yet,’ answered the Countess. 'Let him sleep 
half an hour longer.’ 

But she was surprised to learn how late it was, and 
glanced at her old travelling clock; Montalto now and 
then stayed in bed till nearly eleven, however, and she 
was glad to be alone some time longer. As he had given 
an appointment to a man of business, whom he would 
certainly see as soon as he was ready, it was quite pos- 
sible that she might be left to herself till luncheon time. 
There were a number of little things she wished to do, 
and she began to occupy herself with them. Though it 
was the fourteenth of January she had not yet changed 
the calendar cards for the year in the shabby little silver 
stand she had used so long. The new ones needed chp- 
ping, in order to fit the old-fashioned frame that had been 
made for a sort no longer to be had. The note-paper in 
the upright case on the writing-table was almost finished 
too, and she replenished it from a closet in her dressing- 
room. She was used to doing all such things for herself, 
and kept her own stock of writing materials in neat 
order. 

These and other small matters occupied her for some 
time. She was fitting a new piece of pencil into her 
shding pencil-case when loud shouts from the square 
made her turn her head towards the window. Then two 
pistol shots followed, and there was a moment’s silence. 


CHAP. XXIV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


363 


She dropped the pencil and ran to the window, and as 
she reached it the savage shouting rang again through 
the square. She saw fifty or sixty men fighting each 
other, their sticks flourishing, their hats flying in all 
directions, their arms and legs struggling confusedly. 
Instantly she thought of Leone. Giuliana had said there 
were never any disturbances till late in the afternoon, 
and her maid had smiled at the mere idea that anything 
of the kind could happen before noon; yet there was 
fighting going on already, under her window. She 
strained her eyes to find her boy and his tall tutor in the 
crowd, and opened the window to see more clearly. 
They were not in sight — of course not ! Leone was at 
school, and the tutor was at the public library, where 
he spent his mornings in study. But they must come 
home for luncheon, all the way from the Istituto Mas- 
simo, near the station, down to the heart of Rome ; and 
they might be caught in a fight anywhere. She was 
certain that the tutor was a coward. 

Something must be done at once to get the boy home 
in safety. She would telephone to the school that he 
was to wait there, and she would go for him herself. 
She was quite sure she could protect him much better 
than any man could. Who would attack a lady in her 
carriage ? Leone should sit at her feet in the bottom 
of the brougham, in case a stone should break one of the 
windows. She could trust old Telemaco, her own coach- 
man, for she had seen him in trouble with vicious horses, 
and he was cool and resolute ; a man who is not afraid 
of a horse is generally fairly courageous in other ways. 


364 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


She would tell her husband what she was going to do. 
No — he was still asleep. Yet it might be better to 
wake him — it was so late. Probably he would insist 
-on fetching Leone himself, but she would go with him; 
perhaps he would be angry if she went alone. The first 
thing was to telephone. 

The instrument was in the broad passage upon which 
the doors of Montalto's bedroom and dressing-room 
opened. They were double doors, practically sound- 
proof, and it was not hkely that her voice at the tele- 
phone should wake him. She rang, and asked for the 
Istituto Massimo, and after waiting some time she was 
in communication with the porter of the school. He told 
her that it was closed, owing to the disturbances. 

Her heart stopped, and then beat quickly. With 
difficulty she asked if Leone and his tutor had been seen. 
Yes, they had come at the usual time, like many other 
boys whose parents had not seen the notice in the papers. 
The notice had been inserted in all the principal even- 
ing ones yesterday. The Tittle Count,’ as the porter 
called the boy, had gone away again with the tutor. 
That was at half-past eight. There had been very httle 
disturbance in that quarter of the city as yet. The 
porter could tell her nothing more. 

Half-past eight, and it was now nearly eleven ! Maria 
felt dizzy, and held her hand upon the telephone after 
she had rung off the communication. Her husband’s 
bedroom door was just opposite her, and she knew that 
she must call him now. He would not forgive her if 
she did not, and he would be right. 


CHAP. XXIV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


365 


She tapped upon the panel rather sharply. No an- 
swer. She knocked much louder, but no sound came, 
though she felt a httle pain in her knuckles. The double 
door was well made. Rather timidly she tried it, and 
found it locked. She had never entered Montalto’s 
room since he had come back, and she wondered whether 
there were any means of waking him, but his valet must 
know this, and there was no time to be lost. The man 
always waited in a httle room further down the passage,, 
where he cleaned his master’s things, and where the bed- 
room beU rang. It was there that the maid always 
found him when Maria wished her husband to receive 
any message from her immediately on waking. She 
went forward a few steps, not remembering which was the 
door, and she caUed the servant. He came out directly,, 
in evident surprise. 

^We must wake my husband,’ she said. H must 
speak to him at once ; but I have knocked and tried the 
door, and he does not answer. Is there any way of 
reaching him?’ 

The servant produced a key from his pocket. 

‘His Excellency fastens the bedroom door inside, and 
I lock the dressing-room. The door between the rooms 
is never locked.’ 

‘Go in and wake your master gently — he may be 
nervous and tired. Tell him I wish to speak to 
him.’ 

The man obeyed, and Maria waited on the threshold 
of the dressing-room. The smell of stale Havana cigar- 
ettes which she so much detested had met her as the 


B66 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


door opened. The sun was shining in, for the valet had 
already opened the blinds, lighted the fire, prepared the 
tub, and laid out the clothes. He pushed the bedroom 
door on its hinges without noise and entered in the dark 
to open the window. Maria waited, and her eyes fell 
upon a faded photograph of herself, taken soon after she 
had been married. It stood in a gilt frame on the dress- 
ing-table on one side of the mirror. On the other was one 
of Montalto’s mother, in court dress, with her coronet. 
The frame was black and there was a white cross upon 
the lower edge. 

While Maria was looking at these things she uncon- 
sciously listened as the valet softly called his master, 
softly at first, then louder — then a third time, with a 
kind of frightened cry. But there was no answer, and 
Maria pressed her hand to her heart in sudden terror. 
The man appeared at the door with white face and start- 
ing eyes, but he could not speak, and an instant later 
Maria rushed past him into the bedroom. The servant’s 
terrified cry, his livid face, his speechless horror, all told 
her that her husband must be dead. 

She was at the bedside now, bending down and calling 
him, softly at first, then louder, for he was breathing 
heavily ; but he did not hear, he did not even stir. Maria 
did not cry out, for she was not frightened now; only 
she did not understand. The valet was beside her, pale 
and scared. 

‘He sleeps very heavily,’ she said, lowering her voice 
instinctively, but without the least tremor. ‘Have you 
ever seen him sleep like this?’ 


CHAP. XXIV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


367 


The servant looked at her strangely, and his words 
broke out, loud and sudden. 

‘Excellency — don’t you see? It is an apoplexy! 
I’ve seen it before.’ 

‘An apoplexy !’ 

She repeated the word slowly with a wondering horror, 
and drew back from the bedside, gazing at the dark, 
unconscious, upturned face, the dreadful, half-opened 
eyes, the knotted arteries and veins at the temple that 
was towards her. 

‘It came in his sleep,’ the servant said, in an awed tone. 

‘Yes.’ Maria was recovering her senses. ‘Tele- 
phone for the doctor at once. Tell him what has hap- 
pened. I will stay here.’ 

The man went out, still much more frightened than 
she was, for there is nothing, not death itself, which the 
Italians of the lower classes dread so much as apoplexy. 

Maria smoothed the unconscious and paralysed man’s 
pillow, and drew the bed-clothes up under his pointed 
grey beard, for the room was cold. That was all she 
could do, and when she had done it she stood upright, 
with folded hands, looking steadily at the dark and con- 
gested face. 

Little as she knew of such things, she had heard that 
apoplexy was often brought on by violent fits of anger 
and other great emotions, and the long habit of self-accu- 
sation made her ask her conscience whether the terrible 
catastrophe had not come through her fault. In some 
way it must be so, she was sure, with aU that was to fol- 
low. People often recovered, even from a bad stroke. 


368 


A LADY OF ROME 


PABT IT 


far enough to drag on a wretched existence for years, 
half paralysed, half speechless, or altogether both, but 
fully conscious. She would take care of him faithfully ; 
better that than — she checked the mere thought. It 
was worse to be freed thus, by the suffering he was to 
bear, than to fear the sound of his step, to dread his 
touch, to feel her flesh creep at his caress. It must be 
worse. She must make herself understand that it was. 
What was all her expiation worth if she was so inhu- 
manly cruel as to think of her own bodily freedom 
now? She had prayed for strength to bear, not for 
liberation from the terrible bond of wifehood. Was 
this God’s answer ? Never ! This was fate, sudden, aw- 
ful, leaping into her life to make her think evil against 
her will, to cut short the punishment she should have 
borne patiently for many years to come. She had not 
suffered enough yet, not half enough ! 

With some confused thought of imposing a duty on 
herself, she bent down and kissed her husband’s forehead. 
At the same moment the servant came back, and when 
she stood up again he was beside her. The doctor would 
come at once, he said, but he would have to walk, as no 
carriage was safe in the streets. 

For a few moments she had forgotten Leone, out in the 
city, somewhere, with his tutor, and at the thought, with 
her eyes fixed on her husband’s senseless form, she felt 
that she might go mad. Could she leave him now, 
without a doctor, without a nurse ? Might he not wake, 
suddenly conscious for an instant, to die calling for her ? 
She knew nothing definite about such things, but she 


CHAP. XXIV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


369 


vaguely remembered hearing that dying people some- 
times revived for a few moments before the end. 

Yet, if she did not leave him, who would find Leone ? 
For she was sure she could find her boy, and she only, 
somewhere in Rome, and protect him and bring him 
home. Of all she had suffered in her suffering life those 
moments were the worst. She spoke to the servant in 
sheer desperation, to hear her own voice. 

‘Can we do nothing till the doctor comes ?’ she asked. 
‘ Do you know of anything that ought to be done ? ’ 

But the man was at a loss. He spoke confusedly 
of leeches, ice, and mustard plasters. Then he remem- 
bered that there was a chemist’s shop at the corner of the 
square ; there might be a doctor there, or some one who 
knew what to do. When people were hurt or had a sun- 
stroke in the street they were always carried to the chem- 
ist’s, unless there were a regular ambulance-station near. 

Maria grasped at the idea and sent him instantly, and 
she was again alone by the bedside. But she could not 
think now ; since fear for the child had taken possession 
of her, there was not room for anything else. She stood 
motionless for more than five minutes, not even notic- 
ing the sound of low voices at the outer door of the next 
room; for the servant had told the footman in the hall 
what had happened as he hurried out on his errand, and 
the whole household had soon gathered in the passage. 

Then Maria felt that some one was beside her, and she 
looked up and saw a young man with a grave, fair face, 
who bent over the bed without so much as speaking. 

‘It is a severe stroke of apoplexy,’ he said, standing 


370 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


upright again and looking at her. ‘You must send for 
ice at once.^ 

‘There is an ice-box in the house/ said the valet, who 
had entered the room with the young doctor, and he went 
away quickly to procure what was needed. 

‘Will he be conscious again Maria asked in a low 
voice. 

‘Perhaps, but probably not for two or three days.’ 

‘Can I be of any use? Do you need me here? We 
have telephoned for our doctor.’ 

The young man looked at her in some surprise. 

‘No,’ he said, ‘I will do what can be done, if you prefer 
to leave the room.’ 

‘I am afraid my httle boy is lost in the streets,’ Maria 
answered. ‘I am in great anxiety. I must go out and 
find him.’ 

The yoimg man understood the look in her face 
now. 

‘I will stay here till the doctor comes,’ he said in a 
different tone. ‘Will you kindly send one of your ser- 
vants to help me ? It will be better to move the patient. 
His head is much too low.’ 

‘ I can help you to do that,’ Maria answered. ‘ I would 
rather help you myself. I am quite strong enough.’ 

Between them they raised the unconscious man, and 
propped him with pillows and cushions till he was almost 
in a sitting posture. 

‘That is all,’ said the doctor. ‘You can do nothiiig 
more. I will see to the rest.’ 

She thanked him and went out quickly, and the ser- 


CHAP. XXIV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


371 


vants made way for her with sorrowful respect, for they 
all loved her. 

‘ Go in and help/ she said to old Agostino, and passed on. 

She hastened to her own room and put on a hat and a 
coat, the first she could find, and she took money and 
went through the endless rooms to the hall. It was 
deserted. Even the footman on duty was with the rest. 
But she went straight to the door. Her feet moved me- 
chanically and swiftly, and she felt that she was guided 
by a mysterious power which would lead her to her child 
without fail by the shortest way. 

She ran down the first flight of stairs to the wide land- 
ing, and as she turned the corner of the great wall that 
divided the staircase she almost fell against Leone’s tutor, 
who was running up, two steps at a time. 

^ Alone?’ she cried in utmost horror. 

‘Leone is safe.’ He was almost breathless. 

‘Safe? Where?’ 

She did not believe him, and she saw that his right arm 
was in a sling made of coarse black cotton. 

‘He is in the barracks of the Piedmont Lancers. I 
came as quickly as I could, for I thought you and the 
Count might have heard ’ 

‘Yes, yes! But why there? Wliat happened ? Tell 
me quickly I Is he hurt ? ’ 

‘Not a hair of his head.’ 

Maria breathed again, and leant against the wall, 
closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them 
again she looked at the sling and saw the end of a splint 
and a bit of white bandage. 


372 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


* But you are hurt ? ’ 

'My arm is broken. I stopped at an ambulance-sta- 
tion and got it more or less set, because I could not run 
with it hanging down. The pain was too great. It 
took some time, I’m sorry to say.’ 

Maria remembered that she had beheved the tutor to 
be a coward. 

'I am very grateful to you/ she said earnestly. 'Only 
tell me what I am to do about getting Leone home. How 
did he get to the barracks? Are you in great pain?’ 

' Oh, no,’ answered the tutor courageously, and he told 
his story in few words. 

On finding the school shut because riots were feared, 
he had thought it dangerous to bring Leone home 
through the city on foot, as they had come. The boy 
was now nine years old, and a good walker for his age, 
and the tutor had thought that by following the walls 
of the city from the station, round to the further side of 
the Palatine, they would be sure to keep out of any dis- 
turbances that might be going on. Leone had been de- 
lighted at the prospect, and they had started at once and 
encountered no rioters till they came to Porta Maggiore, 
when they suddenly found themselves caught between an 
angry crowd of labouring men, many of whom live in that 
quarter, and a band of citizens who came in sight just 
then, armed with their sticks. The rioters charged upon 
the latter as soon as they appeared. The tutor told 
Leone to run behind the citizens for safety, while he 
himself stood his ground to cover the boy’s retreat. 
Fortunately Leone obeyed, but the tutor soon found him- 


CHAP. XXIV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


373 


self in the thick of the most serious fight that took place 
while the strike lasted. It was interrupted by the unex- 
pected arrival on the scene of half a troop of the Piedmont 
Lancers, whose quarters were then in that region. The 
troopers charged upon the rioters, and belabomed them 
with the flat of their sabres till they took to flight. To 
the tutor’s smprise, the officer in command recognised 
Leone, and seemed much concerned that he should have 
been so near danger. He said he would take charge of 
him, and keep him at the barracks all day, as the city 
was not safe anywhere ; he added that he knew the lad’s 
father and mother, and he gave his own name. The 
tutor did not remember to have heard it before except 
in history and hoped that he had done right. 

‘Quite right,’ Maria answered. ‘I have known the 
Conte del Castiglione a long time.’ 

She turned back and went up the stairs with the tutor 
and told him of what had happened. Then she went to 
her husband’s bedside again, calm and collected. 


CHAPTER XXV 


Natuee was merciful to Montalto. Strong men have 
lived paralysed for years after a stroke of apoplexy, in 
full consciousness, yet unable to communicate their 
thoughts to others; but Montalto was not very strong, 
and he never awoke from the sleep in which his wife 
found him. On the fifth day the heart stopped beating, 
and that was the end. 

There was no pain, no lucid moment, no harrowing fare- 
well. It was the woman who endured all that a woman 
can bear, during those five days, not knowing but that 
he might come back to drag out a long and miserable 
existence, not daring to pray that he might die, lest she 
should be praying for her own freedom, yet for his sake 
not daring to ask that he might live and suffer. It was 
not until all was over that the last chance of that went 
out with life itself. 

Maria had refused to see any one. Three times Giu- 
liana came to the palace and asked if she could be of any 
use, but the answer was always the same : the Countess 
thanked her friend, but could not see her. Monsignor 
Saracinesca came twice, and he was admitted to the sick- 
room ; but Maria would not be present, and Don Ippolito 
made no attempt to disturb her privacy. It was only at 
rare intervals that she left her husband’s side for a short 
time, until he was dead. Each day, with the thought of 

374 


CHAP. XXV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


375 


imposing a duty upon herself which he would expect, 
she bent down and kissed his forehead; when it was 
finished she kissed him once more, she knelt beside his 
body half an hour, and then went quietly out of the room. 

She had done what she could ; so far as in her lay, the 
expiation was complete; she might have done a little 
more if hfe had hngered a httle longer ; yet, as she closed 
her eyes, she asked herself whether she had done enough, 
and afterwards she remembered fancying that a cool 
breath of peace fanned her burning forehead for a mo- 
ment before she fell asleep on a httle lounge in her dress- 
ing-room. 

She awoke in bed at night, and it seemed strange that 
there should be a soft light in the room, for she had al- 
ways slept in the dark. Perhaps the hght was only in 
her imagination, after all, for when she tried to turn her 
head on the pillow the glimmer seemed to go out and she 
fell asleep again. Once more she awoke, and it was still 
there, and a nursing sister with a nun’s wimple and a dark 
blue veil was leaning over her. She tried to speak, but 
she was so very weak that she heard no sound, but only 
a sort of lisping whisper. The nurse bent nearer to her 
lips, and she tried to speak again. 

‘Have I been asleep long?’ She could just whisper 
that. 

‘You have been very dangerously ill for a long time. 
You must not try to talk.’ 

The soft dark eyes looked up to the gentle face in won- 
der, and the lips moved again. 

‘Leone?’ Only that word as a question. 


376 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


' Quite, quite well, in Frascati with his tutor. We ex- 
change news every day.^ 

Sleep again, quick and soft, and after that waking 
and sleep by day and night, with gradual return to 
thought and life, till she knew what had happened to her, 
and was at last well enough to see Leone for a few 
minutes. 

He looked strangely tall in his new black clothes, and 
when she had kissed him and had held his face before her 
a moment between her beautiful thin hands, he gazed at 
her a long time very thoughtfully. 

‘The doctors said you were going to die,’ he observed 
at last, ‘ but the Captain said you wouldn’t. I beheved 
the Captain.’ 

‘ What captain, dear ? ’ 

‘Why, Captain Castighone, of course. He’s my friend 
now.’ 

A faint warmth rose in Maria’s wasted cheeks. 

‘I thought you had been in Frascati,’ she said. 

‘Yes. But the Captain has been out to see me three 
times a week. Didn’t they tell you ? Sundays, Wednes- 
days, and Fridays. He said he thought you wouldn’t 
mind, because it was rather lonely for me out there with 
a man like my tutor, who can’t ride and had a broken arm. 
He’s given me a dog. We’re great friends. Papa was 
going to give me a dog, you know.’ 

The last sentence was spoken in a lower tone, very 
seriously and with a sort of awe. 

‘Yes, dear,’ Maria answered gravely, for she did not 
know what to say. 


CHAi>. XXV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


377 


The handsome boy sat down and held her white hands 
affectionately in his brown ones, and his bright blue eyes 
gazed quietly at her. 

miss papa dreadfully,^ he said. ^ Don’t you?’ 

'His death has made a very great change in my hfe,’ 
she answered. 

'I couldn’t beheve it at first,’ said Leone. 'When I 
did, I just couldn’t stand it. I went and shut myself 
up in my room all day and thought about him.’ 

' Perhaps that was the best thing you could have done, 
dear.’ 

'What did you do after he was dead, mother? I 
want to know.’ 

'I fell ill at once,’ Maria answered. 'I thought I was 
only faUing asleep, and I knew nothing for more than a 
fortnight.’ 

'Yes. But before that, did you cry much?’ 

'No, dear. I was quite worn out, for I had scarcely 
left him since he had fallen ill. When he did not breathe 
any more, I kissed him and prayed, and then came to 
my own room. After that I remember nothing.’ 

Leone looked at her thoughtfully and rather sadly. 

'I wanted to know,’ he said after a while. 

Maria’s maid came to the door and said the tutor was 
waiting to take his Excellency for his afternoon walk. 
The nurse had sent her, thinking that Maria would be 
tired. 

'Why do they call me "Excellency” every minute?’ 
Leone asked. 'They hardly ever used to. Of course, 
I’m growing up — but still ’ 


378 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


^Though you are only a boy, they look upon you as 
the master now, because there is no one else/ 

^Am I really the master of Montalto, as papa said I 
should be?’ 

suppose so, dear/ Maria spoke a little wearily. 
^You must go out for your walk now, and to-morrow 
you shall come again and stay longer.’ 

^ Yes, much longer ! Do you think it would cheer you 
up to see my dog to morrow ? You must be dreadfully 
lonely all day. I’ll lend him to you, if you like.’ 

Maria smiled. 

^ Bring him with you to-morrow, if he is a cheerful 
little dog,’ she answered, and she nearly laughed for the 
first time in many weeks. 

Leone looked at her with satisfaction. 

‘You’re going to get well very soon,’ he said in a tone 
of patronising conviction. ‘Good-bye.’ 

She watched him as he crossed the room to the door. 
He was thinner and taller, but he looked square and 
tough. He already had the figure of a little man, and 
at the back of his neck, above the broad turned-down 
collar, the short and thick brown hair seemed trying to 
curl more vigorously than ever. Maria saw it and shut 
her eyes. 

She was still very weak, for it sometimes takes a long 
time to recover from brain fever, but she gained daily. 
Giuhana Parenzo came and spent long hours in the room, 
for she was a healthy, soothing woman, who made no 
noise and told Maria just how she wanted to know, 
asking no questions about how she felt. 


CHAP. XXV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


379 


At last they began to drive out together, near the end 
of February, when the almond- trees were in blossom 
and there was a breath of spring in the air. 

One day they were in the Campagna and almost in 
sight of Acqua Santa, on the New Appian, and neither 
had spoken for some time. Giuliana broke the silence, 
have a great admiration for you, Maria,’ she said. 

mean, quite apart from our friendship. I did you a 
great injustice in my thoughts at the beginning of the 
winter, and I want to tell you how sorry I am. You 
have been very brave and good all through this.’ 

^ Thank you, Giuhana.’ Maria touched her friend’s 
hand affectionately. 

^I’m not the only one of your friends who thinks so, 
either. Shall I repeat something that Ippolito Sara- 
cinesca told me the other day?’ 

'If it is kind, tell me. I am not quite strong yet.’ 

'It may make a difference to you to know it. It 
ought to please you. Do you remember that Ippohto 
and I dined with you the night before your husband fell 

m?’ 

'Indeed I do!’ 

'And they argued, as usual, but afterwards they 
talked in a low voice.’ 

'I remember that too.’ 

'Poor Diego was talking about you. He said that 
whatever trouble there had ever been between you was 
forgotten and forgiven. He said that you had made 
him absolutely and unspeakably happy ever since he had 
come back to you, and that he wished he could have made 


380 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART n 


your life such a heaven as you had made his; that his 
unfortunate temper must have often irritated you and 
hurt you, but that he believed you had always forgiven 
him.’ 

Maria’s eyes filled with tears, as they sometimes did. 

^ Thank you for telling me that,’ she said. ^It does 
make a difference.’ 

^Ippolito never saw him conscious again. Those 
must have been almost the last words he ever spoke.’ 

^Almost,’ echoed Maria, remembering that night. 

'But there is something else,’ Giuliana said. 'Shall 
I tell you? There is just one thing more.’ 

'Does Don Ippohto wish me to know it? He was 
Diego’s best friend.’ 

'Yes. He thinks it will be easier — I mean, it will 
seem more natural — if it comes through me. Ippohto 
will never feel that he knows you very well. You under- 
stand, don’t you, dear?’ 

'Certainly. Go on, please.’ Maria prepared herself 
for a shock. 

'Last Christmas Eve Diego went to see him, and 
placed in his hands a letter, to be given to you in case 
of his death. We have not thought you were well 
enough to have it until now. Your husband told Ip- 
pohto what is in the letter in case it were ever lost, and 
Ippohto thought best to tell me, so that you may know 
beforehand what it is about. You are strong enough 
now.’ 

'Yes,’ Maria said, but she turned a shade whiter. 'I 
can bear anything now !’ 


CHAP. XXV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


381 


ought to relieve you rather than pain you/ answered 
Giuliana. 'The letter is meant to give you his full con- 
sent to marry again, in case he died. But he added ^ 

Telemaco suddenly checked his horses to a walk at 
the steep hill, and it was impossible for Giuliana to go 
on talking in the low phaeton without being heard, 
unless she spoke in a foreign language. Maria grew 
whiter. 

'A little faster,^ said Giuliana to the coachman. 'You 
can stop at the top of the hill.^ 

The New Appian Road is paved throughout, and the 
horses’ hoofs began to clatter on the stones again. Maria 
waited to hear the rest. 

'He added that if you married again he thought it 
would be your duty to marry Baldassare — your duty 
before God and your duty to society. Yes, dear, what did 
you say?’ 

Maria had uttered a little exclamation and had turned 
her face quite away. 

For the first time since her friend had known her the 
tears overflowed, and Giuliana, leaning forwards a little, 
could just see two glistening drops on her pale cheek. 
When Maria turned again she shook her head slowly. 

'No,’ she said in a low voice. 'It is too much, it is 
too generous. I must never marry him. I must never 
think of him again. I promised Diego that I would tear 
the memory from my heart, and I must. God help me, 
for I must.’ 

Giuliana opened her little bag, a marvel of workman- 
ship fresh from Paris, 


382 


A LADY OF ROME 


PART II 


^Here is the letter, Maria/ she said. 'You must have 
it now, for it freely gives you back the promise you made. 
Read it when you are alone.^ 

Maria took the letter in silence; and under her black 
fur-lined cloak, heavy with crape, she loosened her dress 
and laid the sealed envelope upon her bare neck, a 
little to the left, where she had laid the letter the monk 
had given her from Castiglione, some two months ago, 
that seemed like ages of ages now. 

Just then the horses stopped at the top of the hill, 
where a lane turns to the right, leading to Acqua Santa 
and the golf hnks. A large closed carriage with black 
horses and plain black liveries was coming rapidly from 
the opposite direction. 

As it passed the phaeton Giuliana and Maria bowed 
far forwards, for there was a cardinal inside whom they 
both knew, an old man and a good one. In answer to 
their salutation he smiled, and Maria saw the aged hand, 
white and ungloved, hfted at the open window to give 
a blessing that might have seemed prophetic just then. 

Months have passed since that afternoon and many 
things have happened. Casalmaggiore never got the 
Andalusian mare, for only Leone rides her, and he would 
not part with her for anything. Monsieur de Maurienne 
never came back from Paris, but managed to be sent to 
Vienna instead, and Donna Teresa is still an unprotected 
widow. The Countess of Montalto is herself again, and 
still in half-mourning for her husband. 

During these hot August days she is living quietly at 


CHAP. XXV 


THE COUNTESS OF MONTALTO 


383 


Montalto with Leone and his tutor; for she felt that 
if she did not come to the place now it would be harder 
to come back later and face its associations ; and besides, 
Leone is to be the master when he is grown up, and he 
must begin to learn what that means. 

He comes in at tea-time, a straight, square boy in well- 
worn riding clothes, his fox-terrier at his heels. 

‘1 wish the Captain were here, mama,^ he says 
suddenly. Ht would be such fun to ride together. I 
don^t see why you shouldn't ask him for a few days.’ 

^Not now, little man,’ says Maria, pouring out the 
boy’s tea. ^ But perhaps he may come another year and 
stay a long time.’ 

She rises and sets the cup on a little table beside him 
with a good slice of bread and butter, and she stands 
over him as if to make him eat and drink. But when he 
bends his handsome head she stoops and kisses the back 
of his sturdy neck where the short brown hair is always 
doing its very best to curl. 

Note. — The ^Piedmont Lancers,’ to which Cas- 
tiglione belonged, are purely imaginary, and are by 
no means meant for the ‘Piedmont Kegiment,’ 
which would be more rightly classed with the 
Dragoons, 


i 


' t 


.■ I ■ 

,v • 


f 

I 


I 


I ■ ' I ' 

4 

\ 

t ' 

■ 1 I • 

, ' 



• .1 



• ' I 1^ < 

' ' I 


« 


’ I 





P 


I 




I 


s 

. ) 


' r ^ ^ V' . .' 


• S «- 

; ' - • 111 .1 , ■ ' 





4 


I 

1 

, I I 

t, 


r‘ 


\ 



I 


\ 


i >. 


t 


I 


I 


, f. 


t. 


I 




* 


f 




> 


t 





> 


j 


t 


I 


I. 



i 


1 


» 




< 


I 


h, 

' > 



1 


I 

I 



i 


f 


p 


f 







f 


\ • , 

; • i 

9 


% 





\ 


A 


\ 



\ 

' f 


t 


% 




n 



\ 










I 


t 


# 


I 


i 





4 


« 


« 


f 


I 


















6 ! ^ < 










